Desperately Seeking Sammy
by StrigoiVii
Summary: Sam has an admirer, Dean has a hater. How far will she, or it, go to have him, and keep him? Spoilers for pilot Like we all haven't seen that before, right? Spoilers for Asylum too. We've all seen that one more then once too, right? And NAKED DEAN!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**She stared at the two young men across the crowded bar, one sitting in the corner with a laptop, mindlessly picking away at the keys, and nursing the same beer for an hour now. The other was a little more lively, hustling pool in the corner like he was some kind of Fast Eddie, and downing the beers as fast as the waitress could bring them. He'd win some, then lose one, then win a few more, just to make it look good. She knew what he was doing though, she'd been following them for weeks.**

**The smart one, she knew him. She'd seen him at Stanford. She also decided she'd taken a liking to him. One small problem though, he had a girlfriend. That didn't really matter though, there were ways around that, and he'd never know. The girlfriend, she was beautiful. She could see spending the next forty or fifty years as a beautiful blonde woman, with a tall, handsome man at her side. She'd planned it all out, following her mark for weeks, watching her mannerisms, body language, speech patterns. It was all too easy. **

**Then the other one showed up, and he'd left with him, leaving blondie to herself. They took off in that old, black, piece of crap car, to god knew where. It was perfect, because that left her alone, and vulnerable. She could make her move, and he'd never know. She'd be there when he got back, none the wiser.**

**She'd been ready to move in for the kill when it happened. Blondie had been in their tiny closet apartment, ready to shower. She snuck in, leaving her note and treat on the table. Taking a clump of hair from blondie's brush on the dresser, she stashed it in her pocket, then waited. That was when she felt the presence in the room. It was evil, and it make her cringe. She hid in a corner, watching in awe at what happened next. **

**The man had stood at the foot of the bed, waiting for her to come out from the bathroom. When she did, he pounced like a cat. With the turn of his hand, and a flick of his wrist, he propelled blondie up to the ceiling, as that god awful car came roaring up the street. She heard a car door slam, footsteps, the door opening, the rattling of keys, and his voice.**

"**Jess, you home?"**

**He'd grabbed her treat from off the table, seeing the smile on his face as he ate, and watched him drop down onto the bed. The droplets of blood that landed on his face caught his attention, and as he looked up, was horror-struck to see his beloved plastered to the ceiling, and bursting into flames. **

**Then, the other one showed up, screaming his name.**

"**SAM!"**

**Grabbing him and dragging him out of the blaze, she snuck out right behind, unnoticed by either of them. She knew the situation had been ruined. How was she supposed to take the place of a dead girl. Well, she would have been a dead girl, but only she would have known that. Now, things would be much more difficult. It didn't matter to her, she would figure out a way. What was important was that Jess was gone, and she wasn't coming back. She had what she needed to become her, thankfully pocketing it before the fire. She'd just have to wait, that's all.**

**She didn't realize she'd have to wait so long though. The funeral had been quick. They'd had her buried in a matter of days. It was easy, since there was almost nothing left of her. But he disappeared, her Sam. Took off in that monstrosity of a vehicle with that other one, the one now playing pool. It took her a long time to find out who that other one was, totally shocked to know it was a brother. His brother.**

**Not only did it take a long time to find out who the brother was, it took a long time to track them both down. She finally found them in St. Louis, where the news reports had said the other one was dead. But here he was, standing right in front of her, and playing pool no less. She'd done some investigating of her own. She knew what really happened in St. Louis. The brother was a killer of her kind, but it didn't matter. All she wanted was the other, all she wanted was her Sam. So she watched, and waited. She followed them from St. Louis, to Iowa, to Oklahoma, to Lawrence, Kansas, then on to Rockford. She could feel his pain then, the form she'd taken drinking every part of him in. First, the mother he couldn't remember, then the brother he'd almost killed. Her heart bled for him, she loved him that much. She had to have him, had to be with him. She'd become a part of him. Sitting there in that bar in Rockford, she knew it was now or never.**

"**Eight ball, side pocket," Dean announced as he hit the white ball into the black, sinking it instantly.**

"**You're a hustler. I'm not stupid. I'm gonna kick your ass 'til the sun comes up, and when you're dead, I'm gonna kick it some more, just to make me feel good."**

"**Dude, you ever take anger management classes? I think you may need them."**

**Sam knew when his brother was in trouble. He'd been playing for hours, finally pissing someone off. That must be a new record for him. He usually pissed people off right away.**

"**Excuse me, is there a problem here?" Sam asked, in his most authoritative tone.**

"**No problem that a good steel-toed boot to the face won't cure," Dean's opponent stated, as a matter of fact.**

**Sam's attempt at diffusing the situation totally failing, he was ready to resort to physical violence, when the very familiar, hot, young, blonde stepped in.**

"**Can I help?"**

**Sam took one look at her, and almost dropped to his knees, his hand on the pool table the only thing stopping him from shorting out completely. **

"**Jess?" **

**It was all he could say.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She strolled right past the two brothers, their eyes never straying from her, and came face to face with the extremely angry, relatively drunk beast of a man that looked like he was about ready to rip Dean's head off and use it as a cue ball.

"Hey buddy, are you the guy driving that red '72 Mustang Mach 1 sitting in the parking lot out there?" She asked Mr. Personality, who was just about ready to break his cue over Dean's head. He instantly stopped dead, and looked directly at her, a flash of pride flooding over his bright red face.

"Yeah, that's my baby out there. Restored her myself, why?"

"Because I just saw two guys outside giving it the once over with a set of keys, that's why. I think they're still there too, if you hurry, you should be able to catch them."

Pride instantly replaced with a look of sheer horror, he dropped his stick, and ran at lightning speed to the door, knocking over one of the waitresses on his way out. Wasting no time, she grabbed Sam's arm, pulling him towards the back of the bar, and what seemed to be the rear exit. Dean was only a step behind, not really sure he was believing what he was seeing. They'd snuck out the emergency door, lingering in the alley they now found themselves in.

"That was close. I've been watching that guy for a while now, he was just itching for a fight," she held out a hand in greeting, Sam mindlessly taking and shaking it, "Name's Jennifer, but my friends call me Jay. And you are?"

Sam couldn't bring himself to answer her. He was in a daze. Every inch of her screamed Jessica, from her deep, blue eyes, to her silken blonde hair. The closer he stood to her, she even smelled like Jessica, but he knew it couldn't be, his beloved Jessica was dead. He'd killed her, as sure as if he'd started that fire himself. His mouth opened in an attempt to speak, but nothing would come out.

Dean was more curious then shocked, quite able to form words and spit them out at the same time.

"He's Sam, and I'm sure he's pleased to meet you. He's not always this antisocial, are you Sammy?"

The not so gentle punch to the shoulder his brother gave him with his comment finally got Sam to shake the cobwebs out, giving him back his skill of speech.

"That guy's car really get keyed?" It was all Sam could think to say, hoping he didn't sound like an idiot.

"No, but it got him the hell out of dodge, didn't it."

Sam chuckled, "Sure did. Pretty impressive. You wanna get a drink?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Let's just not get one here. I don't think that guys going to be very happy when he realizes he's been hustled and had, all in the same night. I have a car out front, at the end of the lot. If we're quiet, we'll make it without being seen, sneak off somewhere cozy."

"What are we waiting for, let's go."

"Uh Hum, Excuse me, aren't you forgetting something, Sam?" Dean was not accustomed to being ignored, especially by his little brother, hot chick that looked just like his dead girlfriend or not.

"Oh, sorry. Jay, this is my brother, Dean."

"Hello, brother Dean."

She held out her hand once again, Dean taking it, thinking he'd grasped it more forcefully then he should have. He was wrong. She had an iron grip, worthy of any man on the planet. When he made contact with her skin, he felt a shiver roll up his spine, turn a 180, and crawl right back down as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and started dancing with one another. Her flesh was cold, almost like he was touching a corpse. _'This is wrong, way wrong' _he thought to himself. He instantly new there was something not right with this girl.

"Let's go get that drink now, shall we," with the subtle flip of her blonde curls and a flash of her perfect, she gently tugged Sam by the sleeve in the direction of her car, and he followed her like a dog chasing a bone.

He was totally mesmerized by her. The way she walked, the way she talked, was all so familiar to him. How could anyone else possibly be so much like the woman he'd loved and lost? He didn't know, but he had every intention of finding out.

"Sam, a word please." Dean was hustling to catch up to them. He had no intentions of letting his brother go anywhere alone with this girl, not until he could put his finger on what it was that made his skin want to crawl.

"What?" Sam's furrowed brow indicating he was not going to take any crap from Dean right this second.

"Dude, you don't find this even the least bit strange? Have you noticed anything unusual about her yet?"

"Uh, no, I haven't, other then the fact she doesn't seem to want anything to do with you. Now, are you going to get out of my way, or do I have to hurt you? We're going for a drink, that's all. Don't watch, don't follow. I'm a big boy, Dean. I can take care of myself. I'll meet you back at the motel. End of conversation."

Sam didn't wait for any type of response. He just turned, and walked away, leaving Dean alone in the alley. He knew he had to follow him, at least to keep an eye on him, even if it was from a distance. If Sam was in his sight, he'd be on her in a heartbeat if anything got out of hand. He weaved through the cars in the lot, trying to watch where they were headed. He made a mental note of what she drove, catching at least a partial glimpse at her license plate. Pulling his keys from his pocket, he slid them into the door lock, the sound of breaking glass quickly grabbing his attention. It didn't really dawn on him that the glass had shattered over his head, until the blood started trickling down his face and pooling in his eye. It was the last thing he saw as he felt his body slide to the ground, and everything went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They pulled up in front of a little bar well out of town. 'Dooley's Pub' was small, cozy, and not very crowded. Picking a table in the farthest, quietest corner, they sat opposite each other, examining the details of each other's faces. Sam knew that face better then he knew his own, from the creamy smooth texture of her skin, to her soft, full lips. Even the mole that graced her face between her brows was identical to Jessica's. Sam couldn't figure out how any of this was possible. Right now, he didn't really care. He just wanted to talk to her, to see if the rest of her was anything like Jessica as well. He decided to test his theory as the waitress approached their table.

"What can I get for ya?" She asked, smiling at the couple staring deeply into each other's eyes.

"Two tequilas and two drafts please."

"Coming right up."

"I love tequila, how did you know Sam?"

"Lucky guess. So, Jay, are you from around here?"

"Not really. I recently lost someone, so I guess I'm just trying to find myself right now. What about you?"

"Me too. Taking a road trip with my brother, trying to take care of some family business."

"Family business? You're not in the mafia, are you?"

"No, not even Italian," Sam chuckled his answer.

"Good, I'd hate to make you an offer you can't refuse."

"You've seen that movie too. It was one of our favorites."

"Yeah, it's one of my favorites too. What do you by mean 'our' Sam?"

"Jessica, my girlfriend, she loved that movie. Big Al Pacino fan."

"She's the one you lost? I'm sorry, I know how much that can hurt. May I ask how, or would you rather not talk about it?"

Sam thought it somewhat strange explaining to this woman, who was like a carbon copy of Jessica, what had happened. It almost made him feel like he was trying to explain her future to her, knowing it all had already horribly happened.

"There was a fire in our apartment, and she didn't make it out. My brother got me out just in time, or I would probably have been killed too."

"That's terrible. So, your brother, he's kinda like your protector? I never would have guessed that back at the bar. Seemed more like you were protecting him."

"Dean doesn't need any protection from me. He's more like the sentinel of the family. He thinks it's his duty to watch over me, always telling me what to do, and how to do it. It's a little smothering sometimes."

"I'm sure he means well though. I guess anyone that wanted to get to you would have to go through him, right?"

"I wish anyone that wants to try good luck. He can be like an angry pit bull sometimes."

"I guess I'll keep that in mind. So, you're on a road trip? How long are you two planning on staying here, if I may ask."

"Not really sure, it's up to Dean, I guess. We were helping some people out, and he had a little 'accident'. We'll probably head out as soon as he's ready." _Yeah, an 'accident'. Shooting your brother full of rock salt while your brain's been fried by some insane, dead, head doctor qualifies as an accident_, Sam thought, a slight feeling of guilt coming over him as it crossed his mind. Looking back at Jay's eyes, the guilt feelings didn't last long, as his thoughts were once again replaced by her stare.

"Well, I hope it's not any time soon, I'd really like to get to know you Sam."

"Same here. So, what's your story?"

"Nothing much to tell. I was in love once, but things just didn't go my way. Trying to get my life together, start over."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

Their conversation went on for hours, and they more they talked, the more Sam was mesmerized by her. She didn't just look, sound, and act like Jessica, it was like she WAS Jessica, and Sam wasn't sure just how to take that. He did know how it was making him feel though, and he thought he liked it.

Dean didn't know what hurt more, his head, his body, or his pride. Being laid out by a shotgun full of rock salt left him hurting like hell, but he was pretty sure the smashed beer bottle over his head wasn't the only insult his body had taken tonight. His chest was on fire, his ribs throbbed, and his back was tied up in one huge knot. Mercifully, he'd been out cold for that part of the show. His eyes opened slowly, as his confused mind tried to figure out just where he was. The familiar scent of leather told him that whoever had decided to go Chuck Norris on him had as least had the decency to put him in his car when they were done.

He struggled to pick his head up off the seat, cringing when he realized his face was fused to the leather by the mass of blood that had pooled and dried to them both like glue. Finally able to right himself in the seat, his eyes struggled to focus on what was in front of him. He now sat in an empty parking lot, the bar in front of him deserted and dark. Keys in the ignition, he turned the car over, the engine roaring to life. He thanked whatever gods there may be that the motel was only three blocks down the street before dropping the car into drive and leaving the empty parking lot behind.

He made it all of a block before the contents of his stomach decided they'd like to make encore, and he'd barely been able to put the car back into park and open the door before their repeat performance. If the act of bringing up one's dinner wasn't bad enough, his bruised and battered muscles protested with every lurch and heave his body made. When he'd finally been able to calm his tortured body down, he was too exhausted to move another inch. Shutting his door, he laid his head back down on his seat, and let sleep take him yet again.

"Sorry folks, it's closing time," the waitress gently reminded them.

They were the only two left in the bar, their laughing and chatting making the hours go by like they had no end. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end though, and as they strolled towards the door, she took Sam's hand in hers, wanting nothing more then to feel his touch. His hand was firm and warm, just like she'd imagined it would be, and touching it gave her the feeling that she wanted to touch more. She knew that couldn't happen tonight though, she had no intentions of moving that fast.

Sam smiled at her when she initiated the physical contact, her hand just feeling right in his, like it was meant to be there. He just wanted to take her in his arms and carry her away somewhere safe, where they could be alone for eternity. He thought better of it though, the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. So, he decided he'd just let her take him back to the motel, and let her decide what to do next.

"I had a really nice time Sam. Maybe we could meet for lunch tomorrow? I'd say breakfast, but it is two in the morning already. Girl's gotta get her beauty rest, you know."

Those were exactly the words Sam wanted to hear. "I'd love to meet you for lunch tomorrow. Call me when you're ready, and I'll be there."

The ride had been too short, and Sam was disappointed when he saw the motel in the distance, until they got close enough to see that the Impala wasn't there. Sam didn't know whether or not to be worried or pissed, as he scanned the area, trying to see if his brother had been following them.

"Well, here we are. Looks like your brother's not back yet?"

"Probably found himself some form of entertainment for the night. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"Thanks again for the wonderful night Sam. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow," she looked him in the eye, and drew in close to him, gently kissing him on the cheek.

He felt his face flush, the warmth of her lips against his skin a welcome feeling. He was ready for more, until she spoke to him again.

"Goodnight Sam."

On that cue, he climbed out of the car, and headed into the motel room as she pulled away. Opening the door to their empty room, he closed it behind him and dropped himself onto his bed, unable to get her out of his mind. He decided he needed to shower, and he'd even be nice and leave the hot water for Dean.


	4. Chapter 4

I hope everyone likes this story so far. If you really want to read it all now, it's posted in it's entirety. (Can I say that here? Gosh, I sure hope so)

Chapter 4

Sam laid in his bed in a semi-sleep state, his thoughts wandering back and forth between the night before and the day to come. It was still dark, but the singing of birds a sure announcement of the suns impending arrival on the horizon. He lazily rolled on his side, his eyes catching the clock on the nightstand between his and Dean's still empty bed. 5:15 a.m. He'd dozed off for two hours.

Jerking straight up in his bed, he couldn't help but feel like something was wrong. Dean had not been back all night, which was not unusual really, except this time, he'd made no attempt to call, left no message, or sent no text. And that WAS unusual. Grabbing his phone, he hit the autodial, and waited patiently for an answer. The answer he got was nothing but voicemail. Sam's unease grew, not really sure why.

"He's probably still pissed at me for last night, yeah, I'm sure that's all." _Or maybe he's still pissed for the last couple of days, _he thought.

Dragging himself from his bed, he threw on some clothes, deciding to at least get some coffee. The donut shop he'd seen was right next door to the bar, and that had only been a few blocks away. It would be a nice, refreshing walk, at least that's what he told himself.

Locking the door behind him, he turned and made his was down the sidewalk, passing one dark shop after another. He made it about a block and a half down when he heard the familiar roar of the engine that always indicated Dean's arrival. He's searched the street, unable to make out headlights in the distance, and kept walking ahead, the rumbling not seemingly approaching as fast as Sam had thought it should.

Finally catching the site of the Impala after another block, Sam's stomach dropped seeing it parked on the shoulder, engine running, lights off, and no sign of Dean. His brother would never leave his car running and walk away. NEVER.

Approaching the drivers side, Sam could see at least why Dean was parked there. The ground confirmed most of what Sam already suspected. Peering into the window, now he was sure. Stepping over the mess his brother had left on the concrete, he yanked open the door, ready to beat his brother senseless.

"Damn it Dean, why the hell did you try driving back drunk? You could've called, I would have…"

Sam's words trailed when he felt the stickiness on his hand as he grabbed Dean's in an effort to pull him upright in the seat. Dean was all dead weight, and as Sam sat him up straight, momentum took his head with it, and as it lolled to the left, Sam saw the bloody mess that was the right side of his brother's face.

"OH SHIT!" He screamed, gently tapping the clean cheek on the left. "Dean, wake up, come on man, what the hell happened to you?"

"Sam…that you?' The words came out in a whisper, barely audible over the rumble of the still running engine.

"Yeah Dean, it's me. Can you slide over so I can get in?"

"No."

"I'm gonna push you then."

"Fine."

Sam didn't want to shove his brother off to the other side and risk him hitting his head against the door, so, rounding around to the passenger side, he decided to pull him over instead. Opening the door, he saw the pool of blood covering the seat, partially dried, partially wet and sticky. He realized his brother had been lying here in his own blood for quite some time.

"Oh Dean, I'm so sorry," he whispered, grabbing his brother and gently sliding him enough to allow him access to the drivers seat.

Gently closing the door, he climbed in, put the car in gear, and drove the remaining block back. Killing the engine, he climbed out, shaking Dean once more.

"Dude, we're here. Can you walk? We need to get you inside and cleaned up."

"No. Leave me here. I'll come in when I'm ready. Just let me sleep it off, kay?"

"Sorry, can't do that. If you can't walk, I guess I'll have to carry you."

Sam did just that too, dragging his brother out, throwing him over a shoulder, and kicking the car door shut. Fumbling for his key, he gained blessed entry to the room, taking Dean straight to the bathroom. He slowly lowered him to the floor, resting him against the tub and the wall. He went back to slam the motel room door shut, and rummaged through their gear for the first aid kit. Sam had a pretty good idea that wherever all that blood was coming from would definitely need some stitches.

In the light of the room, Sam got a full view of the mess in front of him. Dean's hair was caked and plastered to his head, as dark pools of blood had dried in his eye and ear. He took off Dean's jacket and t-shirt, gasping at the rest of the damage that had been done. Dean's entire left side from armpit to waist was one, long bruise, lightly purple at the rim, deepening to almost black at the center. Sam lightly touched the darkest spot over Dean's ribs, making him wince and eliciting a string of expletives directed straight at him, but at least he was now relatively conscious.

"Those have got to be broken Dean. I think you may need a doctor."

"Not broken Sam, just separated. No doctor," he spit out through gritted teeth.

"But Dean.."

"NO DOCTOR SAM! You take care of it, please," the groan of pain that escaped with the sentence left a horrible feeling of guilt in Sam's stomach. If only he hadn't left his brother…

"OK, just calm down, I'll take care of it."

Sam started the water, waiting patiently for it to warm. He repositioned Dean enough for his head to hang over the rim of the tub as he grabbed an empty cup from the sink and started rinsing the blood from his hair.

"Cut and color too. The better the job, the bigger your tip."

"Always the comedian, aren't you?"

"One of us has to have a personality."

"Dean, that's not fu…Shit!"

"What's 'fushit' Sam?"

"Dude, you've got a huge hunk of glass stuck in your head. No wonder you're bleeding like a stuck pig. I'm gonna have to pull that out, and it's definitely in need of stitches."

"Why am I not surprised? Just get it done so I can go back to sleep, will ya."

"Oh no, you can't sleep Dean, not for now anyway. That glass got there somehow, I'm guessing by blunt force, and I'm betting you got a concussion from it. Your not sleeping for the next couple hours at least."

"Kill joy."

The more Sam rinsed, the less discolored the water became, until if finally ran almost clear. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he patted his brother's head, trying to avoid the foreign object still waiting to be extracted. Now was the time, whether Dean was ready or not.

"You want me to do this here, or on the bed?"

"I think I'm pretty comfortable right here Sammy. In fact, if you'd just get me a blanket, I'll be good here all night."

"It's morning Dean, and right here it is then."

Sam gradually sat Dean up, leaning his shoulder once again against the wall, slowly tipping his head down until his chin almost rested on his chest. He had a good view now of the large hunk of brown glass, and with a rather large pair of tweezers, cringed as he dug into his brother's scalp to pull it out.

"Hurry up Sam."

"Almost there… ok… got it," he said with a sense of triumph, as the chunk slid out easily. Sam immediately pressed the towel hard over the open wound, now bleeding at will again.

"Sam, I think I'm gonna be sick," Dean announced, blindly groping for the toilet.

Sam raised the lid, easing his brother over the few feet to the object of Dean's current affection. He didn't really have anything left to throw up, as he just dry heaved into the bowl. Finally gaining some control over his pain wracked body, he rested himself against Sam, who had been waiting patiently for him to finish.

"Ready for round two?" Sam asked, not really sure Dean could take what he had to do next.

"Ready as I'll ever be, just make I quick, will ya?"

"I'll do my best."

Ten stitches it took to close the gash in Dean's head, each one receiving less reaction then the one before. Dean had just about passed out by the sixth one, and Sam had just let him. He'd find some way to wake him later. The wound finally closed, Sam wiped it down with some alcohol, not surprised by the non-reaction that also received. Closing up their kit, he tossed it in the corner, trying to figure out a way to get Dean off the floor and onto the bed without instigating another session of heaving.

"Dean, can you hear me? I'm done. We need to get you off the floor now. Can you help me get you out of here?"

"Can't I just stay here Sam? It's really not that bad."

"No Dean, I need to get you comfortable, and that means not on the bathroom floor."

Wrapping an arm under Dean's right shoulder and around his back, he lifted him off the floor, dragging him out of the bathroom and over to the bed. He laid him down as gently as possible, but even gently, Dean held his breath until the pain subsided. Covering him with the comforter, he switched off the light, praying Dean would actually be able rest. Screw keeping him awake, he'd deal with the consequences later, if necessary.

He climbed into his own bed, utterly exhausted, mind racing as to what could possibly have happened to his brother once he'd left him. He dozed off, only to be awoken by chirping of his phone. Grabbing it off the nightstand, he saw that it was already eleven in the morning.

"Hello, this is Sam."

"Hi Sam, it's Jay. You ready for that lunch date?"

"Oh, sorry, I don't think so. Dean's really sick, I think I'm gonna have to take a rain check."

"Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam couldn't keep the events of the last few hours to himself, and he spilled his guts.

"Dean got pretty beat up last night after we left. It's all my fault. If I'd just stayed with him, this never would have happened. He's in bad shape, and I really need to be here for him."

"Sam, I want to help, I'll be right there."


	5. Chapter 5

I'd just like to say that I think I've finally figured out how to navigate this site. As for the story, well, now is when the fun stuff begins. Hope everyone likes a lot of hurtDean, because it's going to be Supersized from here on out.

Chapter 5

"Sam, whose on the phone?" Dean's groggy voice stopped Sam mid-sentence, abruptly ending his conversation.

"Jay, let me call you back," he whispered, closing the phone and replacing it on the nightstand. "Dean, you're awake."

"No Sam, I'm engaging you in a stunning conversation from my sleep."

Feet planted on the floor between the two beds, Sam caught a good look at his brother's face. The pained expression told him all he really needed to know, but he was going to ask anyway.

"How do you feel?"

"Like you ran me over with the Impala, backed up, and drove over me again. What the hell happened last night?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. What do you remember?"

"I remember wanting to have a night out, you arguing with me about going with, you finally caving in, then nothing, until I woke up on the bathroom floor with your sorry ass doing a piss-poor job washing my blood out of my hair. Care to fill me in on what went on in-between?"

"I would, if I knew. You were hustling, your mark figured you out and wasn't very happy about it, we almost got in a fight, we left," Sam was trying to find the right words to describe the rest of the evening. "I met a girl, we went our way, you went yours. That's it, until I found you this morning."

"Whoa, back up the bus! You met a girl? A real, living, breathing girl? One that doesn't require a tire pump to say hi? Please tell me you sealed the deal, and all my pain will be worth it," Dean's attention had been fully peaked now.

"Dean, not all nights need to end up with two people that don't even know each other's real names doing nothing but sharing bodily fluids, then exchanging fake phone numbers neither one had any intention of calling later in the first place."

"So, you ditched me for a prude chick, leaving me to take the beating of a lifetime, and all you got was a cold shower, that about sum it up?"

"No Dean, it wasn't like that. She wasn't that kind of girl, and I'm not that kind of guy. We talked, and had a really nice time. If I knew what was going to happen…"

"Save it Sam. It's not your fault. Can't blame you for wanting a little female companionship. I would have ditched you for a hot chick too."

Sam watched as his brother struggled to sit up, each movement causing one wave of pain after another, until he finally gave up, the little bit of energy he'd just used seemingly wiping him out. Eyes closed, he drew in one deep breath after another, kicking Sam's level of concern up a notch.

"What's wrong Dean?"

"Just dizzy Sam. It'll pass."

"Do you feel sick?"

"Only when I open my eyes."

"Then don't open them."

"Wow, thanks for those words of wisdom, Confucius."

"I should wrap those ribs up Dean, you're not having any trouble breathing, are you?"

"No mother, I can breath just fine. Would you stop hovering please? I told you they aren't broken. Sam, you said you found me this morning? Where?"

"You tried to drive back here, and made it about a block before you pulled over. I found you in the car, with it running, on the side of the road."

"Please tell me my car is alright," now it was Dean's turn to be concerned.

"For the most part. If it'll make you feel better, I'll have it cleaned. You did leave a mess on the front seat."

"Sam, tell me I didn't puke in my car, please."

"No, you did that on the side of the road, you bled all over your car."

"Now I do feel sick." Dean would have rolled his eyes at that if he thought he could, but with the way his head felt right now, he decided against it.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it, you'll never know it was there. Do you think you could eat something? I'm starving."

"Pizza and a six pack?"

"Pizza yes, six pack, no. You be ok here by yourself? I'll take care of the car, and bring back lunch."

"I think I'll manage. You better take real good care of my car, Sam."

"I will. I won't be gone long. Try not to get in any trouble until I get back."

"Somehow, I don't think that will be a problem."

Sam was dressed and out the door in less then five minutes, and on his phone before he even had the Impala door closed. He knew he had to use what little time he had wisely, not wanting to waste one precious second if he didn't have to. Phone dialing, it only rang once before being answered.

"Sam, what's going on?" Jay's soft voice questioned.

"You still want to meet for lunch? There's a little place on State Street across from Mason's Car Wash we could meet at, while they clean out Dean's car."

"Why do you need to have Dean's car cleaned out?"

"Because there's blood all over the front seat. Someone split his head open last night, and he passed out in the car. He seems ok now, but I don't want to leave him alone for very long."

"I'm on my way Sam, I'll meet you there."

Dean laid in his bed, eyes closed, counting the spots on the back of his eyelids. He didn't dare open his eyes for fear of it sending another wave of vertigo through his already battered brain. He'd been through this before, more times then he cared to count. If he had a dollar for every concussion he'd gotten, he'd be a rich man. Unfortunately, the only thing his concussions gave him were a headache and an upset stomach, this time being no exception.

His thoughts wandered to Sam. His brother met a girl last night, and for that, he should be ecstatic. But for some reason unknown to him, all he felt was some measure of dread. He couldn't explain why, he just knew it was there, in the pit of his stomach. He also knew he wasn't stupid, and judging Sam by the way he bolted out of the motel room, he had every intention of meeting this mystery woman for some clandestine rendezvous. He could only hope he was wrong in his feelings, because the longer he laid there, the more sleep overtook him, until he was totally enveloped by it yet again, and there was nothing he could do.

Sam pulled into Mason's with a smile on his face, and a fifty in his hand. He knew there'd be no questions asked if he tossed in a nice tip, and since these guys made peanuts, fifty dollars went a long way. All he asked it that there be no visible trace of anything on the front seat for his brother to see. The nice young man at the door ensuring he'd take care of everything, Sam jogged across the street to the little diner he'd arranged to meet her at. Jay was already there, waiting patiently for him to show.

"Oh Sam, I'm so sorry. Is your brother ok? We should have never left him, knowing that guy may still be around. I bet it was him, he must have been watching for him. I knew that guy was up to no good."

"I don't know, you didn't see Dean when I found him. It's one thing to beat the crap out of someone, but if it had been that guy, he wouldn't have still had his wallet in his pocket, with all the money still inside. I can't believe that guy beat the crap out of Dean and left three hundred dollars in his pocket. It just doesn't make sense."

"Do bar fights ever make sense, Sam? The guy was probably too drunk to even think about lifting Dean's wallet. He probably just wanted to beat the crap out of someone, and your brother just happened to be the poor fool on the receiving end. That all, end of story. You need to try not to worry about it. I'm sure he'll be fine, just keep him out of the local Rockford bars, they can be pretty rough."

"Thanks for the advice. I feel better already."

Sam took her hand in his, feeling the warmth of her skin, the beat of her pulse. He wanted to feel every inch of her, wanted to know if she felt as familiar as he thought she would. She stared into his eyes, the look unmistakable. She wanted Sam, and she wanted him now, and she didn't care how or where.

"Sam, how long did they say it would take before the car was ready?"

"About an hour."

"How hungry are you?"

"Starving."

"For food?"

"No."

She grabbed Sam by the hand, dropping a five on the table for the drink she'd ordered, and led him out to her car. Safely inside the back seat, tucked behind the shadows of the building, she pressed her body firmly against his, wanting to feel every inch of him. She'd waited so long for this moment, she wanted it to last forever. His body was hard and firm against hers, and she knew the time was right. She whispered in his ear the words she wanted to say, the words she hoped he wanted to hear, before she gave him the pleasure she knew he wanted and needed.

"I love you Sam."

Dean's eyes slowly drifted open, yet his brain was still disorientated. The curtains were pulled shut, giving him no sense of what time of day it could possibly be. Leaning over to look at the clock, he gave up trying to tell what time it was, because there were obviously three clocks on the nightstand, and he couldn't read any of them. Cautiously swinging his legs over the side of the bed and planting his feet on the floor, he could only hope Sam had left his jacket in a reasonably easy place to find. Mr. Meticulous would either hang it over a chair, or up in the closet. The table being at the foot of his bed, he found what he was looking for with relative ease, grateful he didn't need to look any further. Rummaging through the usual pocket, he pulled out his phone. He didn't need to see it to know which number was Sam's, and pushing it, he waited.

"Dean? That you?"

"Sam, where are you? And what time is it?"

"It's about 1:30. You're car's almost done. I'll be there soon. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just fell asleep, couldn't make out the clock, that's all. Hurry up, will you, you've been gone for two hours now, and I am getting hungry."

Snapping the phone closed, Dean decided that, since he was technically up, he needed a shower before Sam got back. The last thing he needed was Sam offering his help for the simple task of bathing. He did have his limits, after all. He shuffled to the bathroom, steadying himself first with the chair at the table, then the wall, then the door, until he finally flipped on the bathroom light. The flash made him wince, but at least he didn't feel like throwing up every time he opened his eyes anymore. He took the few steps to the shower slowly, hoping his eyes would focus the closer he got. When he realized his eyes just wouldn't cooperate, he just stripped naked, stepped in, and pulled the curtain closed. He turned on the water, letting it course down his body. As it slowly heated up to an almost unbearable hot temperature, he lowered his head into the stream, letting the spray wash away whatever blood may have remained. The hot water felt like heaven against his battered ribs, and he just stood there letting it hit him until it ran almost cold. Turning off the water, he groped for a towel, wrapping it around his waist, and gingerly stepping out into the steamy room.

Vertigo hitting him once again, he steadied himself in front of the sink, as he swiped a hand across the mirror, it masked in steam. Catching something familiar in in the reflection, he turned to look through the open bathroom door into the room beyond.

"Sam, what the hell took you so long?"

Still bracing himself unsteadily against the sink, he was unprepared for the blow to his back that sent his head forcefully into the mirror on the wall, glass shattering everywhere. As he fell backwards, head bouncing off the floor, a fresh pool of blood spread around his head, saturating his hair once more. The key to the motel room landing on the floor was the last thing he heard before darkness took him yet again.

**Did I mention how much I love feedback? Good or bad, I like hearing it. Thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Poor Dean, his hole just gets deeper and deeper. Too bad for him he'd not even close to hitting bottom yet.

Chapter 6

Sam wanted to stay right where he was for the rest of his life, feeling her warm body in his arms against him. Her every movement and facial expression had been a mirror image of his Jessica. If Sam hadn't seen her die with his own eyes, he would be convinced, without a doubt, that she was right here, lying on top of him, playing with the curly ends of his hair as she nestled her head against his chin. The way she looked at him made him feel wanted, needed, loved. He thought he would never feel that way again. The thought never occurred to him how 'unusual' this all must actually be.

He was so relaxed and so content with enjoying the scent of her hair, the feel of her breath on his chest, and the warmth of her body next to his that he started to doze off. He'd lost all track of time, and all sense of purpose. The right here, right now was enough for him, until his phone rang, startling him back to true reality. He searched the floor for his cell, not really sure where it had ended up. Homing in on the ring, he finally found it, buried under various pieces of clothing.

"Dean? That you?" _Crap, Dean was up, and looking for him. How long had he been gone?_

"Sam, where are you? And what time is it?" _Sam didn't like the shakiness in Dean's voice. And exactly what time was it, anyway. Glancing at his watch, Sam tried hard to hide the surprise in his voice when he realized how long ago he'd left._

"It's about 1:30. You're car's almost done. I'll be there soon. Are you alright?" _He didn't sound alright._

"Yeah, just fell asleep, couldn't make out the clock, that's all. Hurry up, will you, you've been gone for two hours now, and I am getting hungry."

Sam heard the line go dead, and knew he better start moving at the speed of light. If Dean was coherent enough to not only get up and find his phone, but actually call in search of him, then he'd be waiting for Sam's return, and Dean did not do the waiting thing very well. Jay had heard at least Sam's end of the conversation, and had already started gathering up both her and Sam's things that had been strewn about. She was thankful she'd decided to 'borrow' a Suburban, it was like a small house on wheels.

"Everything ok?" She inquired, obvious disappointment in her eyes that their time together was over, at least for now.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I gotta go, I've been gone way too long already."

"I'll drive you across the street. Maybe we can meet later?"

"I'd really like that," Sam wanted nothing more then to spend the rest of the day and night with her. Or the next week, year, whatever he could get.

Jay climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and drove Sam the short distance to Dean's car, which was sitting off in the corner of the parking lot, alone. Fifty bought him lot, as he admired the glistening sunlight reflecting in the incredible wax job they had done. Jay stopped at the door to the office, and turning to Sam, wrapped both arms around his neck, as she firmly pressed her lips against his. He returned her embrace, and her kiss, neither of them quite ready to give each other up. As they slowly pulled apart, she gently took Sam's lower lip between her teeth, playfully biting it, as Sam reached for the door.

"I'll call you, I promise," Sam told her, climbing from the car, and quickly making his way inside.

"You won't need to," She said to herself, as she exited the lot, disappearing somewhere down the road.

Sam waited patiently for his turn at the counter, the one and only employee currently engaged in a 'conversation' with a very blonde, very buxom customer. They chit-chatted back and forth, both obviously flirting with the other. Sam didn't have anymore time to waste, interrupting them mid-ogle.

"Excuse me, I'm sure you have a really good reason for ignoring your paying customers, but I've got and emergency, and need to get out of here, now. Here's a twenty for the service, can I please have my keys? Black Impala, parked right over there."

The attendant behind the counter looked at Sam, irritated at the distraction. Reaching under the counter, he grabbed the keys, and handing them to Sam, thanked him for his business. He had to ask the question before Sam left, the one he was dying to know the answer to.

"Hey, where'd all that blood come from on the seat? Looked like you slaughtered a pig in there."

"You don't really want to know. Thanks for cleaning her up."

"No problem. Have a nice day."

'Thanks, I already have."

Sam sprinted from the building to the car, noticing it unlocked. Dean would be pissed if he knew his baby had been sitting here open and unprotected, but right now, what Dean didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He climbed in, admiring the detailed job they'd done on the inside as well. The dash shined like new, the seats immaculate. Not a spot of blood remained anywhere that Sam could see. The floor mats were cleaned so well he would have thought they'd just replaced them. They'd even lined Dean's cassette tapes in a nice, neat row in the age-beaten shoe box they called home. Sam was impressed, knowing Dean would be happy to see how well they'd taken care of her.

Racing from the parking lot, Sam had one more stop to make along the way. Rosati's Pizza was busy, and by the time Sam ordered, paid, and got his food, it had been another thirty minutes. He knew with every second that went by, Dean would be more and more irritable, considering he should have been back an hour ago, at least, and Dean was not in any condition to really help himself, even though Sam knew he would try.

The motel wasn't far, and he was at the door in less then ten minutes. He was pleasantly surprised to see Jay waiting for him, leaning against the wall next to their room, smile on her face from ear to ear. His surprise quickly changed to disappointment, knowing he couldn't invite her in. Dean would definitely not want any company, other then Sam.

"I couldn't stay away. Just wanted to see if everything is alright. I know, you probably can't invite me in, but that's ok. I pass by here the way, so I decided to just stop in."

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Nope, just got here myself. I was a little hungry after, well, you know, so I stopped for a burger."

Sam attempted to stick his key into the doorknob, instinct immediately telling him something was wrong when the door drifted open with the slightest bit of force he'd applied. He grabbed Jay by the arm, pushing her behind him as he handed her everything he had in his hands.

"Stay here, don't move away from this wall," he told her, as he slowly stuck his head in the door.

The room was dark inside, the curtains still drawn. Sam cautiously entered, slowly enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside. The room was small, and he was pretty sure if someone had been hiding inside, he would have seen, or sensed them by now. He made his way to the lamp between the beds, forgetting to warn Dean before he flipped it on. Once the room was bathed in light, he knew it didn't matter he'd forgot, seeing Dean's bed empty. Sam knew there was no way Dean could have left the room, not on his own, and peeking into the only other place Dean could be, stared in stunned horror, the only sound coming out was the scream of his brother's name.

Jay stood outside, waiting patiently for some signal from Sam. She knew it when she heard it, the way he screamed it relaying the fear that fueled it.

"DEAN!"

She ran into the room, dropping everything Sam had given her on the nearest bed, and went straight for the bathroom. Sam was on the floor, bunched up towel in hand, trying to stop the new bleeding from the fresh wound, and the again bleeding from the torn open stitched wound.

"Oh my god, what happened? Is he bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?"

'"No, no ambulance. Can you just grab that first aid kit over there in the corner? I can take care of this myself."

Jay did as Sam asked, and with his free hand, he flipped open the lid, removing and popping the smelling salt. Waving it under Dean's nose, it didn't take his brother long to wave Sam's hands away.

"Dean, open your eyes, look at me."

"Sam……why?……"

"What, why what?"

Sam didn't get an answer. As he asked the question, Dean's stomach started rolling as his shoulders started contracting. Sam knew his brother didn't have anything in his stomach to expel, and as gently as possible, rolled Dean to his side, turning his head for him to ride the heaving out. If Sam's face had looked shocked before, it was mortified now, as he saw the unmistakable outline of a boot stamped into the flesh of Dean's lower back. He hadn't seen that before, but then, he hadn't really looked either. He was more concerned with the crater in Dean's head and the possible broken ribs to see anything else.

Once Dean's body finally calmed itself, the heaving reduced to mild shivering, Sam went to work, for the second time in one day. He'd almost totally forgot Jay was there, grateful when he saw her watching intently from the corner of the room.

"Jay, grab a blanket off the bed, he's freezing."

Sam hoped his brother's shaking was due to the fact that he was on the cold floor in nothing but a towel, and not something else. Two blows to the head in one day had to be brutal. Sam knew Dean had already thrown up once, and tried to twice more, and he was having a hell of a time keeping him conscious. Jay brought the comforter, draping it over Dean for Sam, tucking it around him like he was a baby. She gently rubbed his arms, trying to get some heat into him. Sam mouthed her a silent thank-you, before returning his attention to his brother.

"Damn it Dean, why couldn't you wait until I got back? You shouldn't have been up at all. You can't even see straight, what made you think you could stand long enough to shower?"

"Sam, why?"

"Why what, Dean? Why do you keep asking that?"

"Why did you …"

Dean was drifting out again, and Sam knew he only had one option now to bring him back around. "Sorry, bro." he whispered to him, as he poked a finger dead center of the more black then blue mark on Dean's ribcage. Dean let out a groan that made Sam's blood run cold. Sam could not believe what was happening.

"Sam, why did you do it?"

"Dean, you're not making any sense. Why did I do what?"

"Why did you kick me Sam?"

"What? I didn't kick you Dean. God, you're head is really screwed up. I think we need to take you to a hospital."

"No, won't go. Saw you Sam, in the mirror, before…" Dean was finding it almost impossible to stay with Sam now, and he just let himself drift off.

"Before what? Dean, wake up! Before what?" Sam's words were lost on his brother, he was totally out, not hearing anything Sam said.

Rummaging through the kit once again for the needle and sutures, Sam closed the latest gash with four stitches, and re-stitched the back of Dean's head with an additional three. His brother was starting to look like Frankenstein's monster, with all the patchwork Sam had done. He now had the task of moving Dean off the floor, and back into his bed. This time it wouldn't be as easy, knowing he would be of no help at all. All of Dean's weight would be Sam's to bear. Jay must have been reading Sam's mind, readily offering her assistance.

"Sam, do you need help carrying him to the other room. I'll take the bottom, if you take the top."

"Do you think you can carry him? He's heavier then he looks, especially when he's out cold."

"I think I can handle it."  
She grabbed Dean's legs as Sam wrapped his arms under his brother's shoulders, and they lifted him together, making it to the bed in only a few steps. Once they had him flat, Sam tried piling up pillows behind him, trying to take as much pressure off his back as possible. He took his own comforter off his bed, draping that over Dean as his body still shivered slightly. Mentally exhausted, Sam dropped into a chair, face buried in his hands.

Jay had quietly positioned herself behind Sam, seeing the obvious angst on his face. She tried massaging the tension from his shoulders, feeling every muscle in him wound up in knots.

"Sam, are you alright?"

"No, I'm not alright. I should never have left him alone. This is all my fault. If I'd just stayed here, he wouldn't have hit his head again, wouldn't have ripped those stitches open. And what would make him think I kicked him? His mind is scrambled, and that scares me. I think he may have hurt himself more then he thinks."

"Just let him sleep, I'm sure he'll be better in the morning. And you should sleep too. I know how stressful that must have been for you. Lay down, take a nap. Don't worry, I'll watch him. I'll wake you if anything happens."

"Thanks. I could use a little sleep right now," Sam spread himself out on the bed, not even bothering to take off any of his clothes, and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift, until he too was asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:** I've never been very good at author's notes, so here they go. Just wanted to let anyone who's reading that this story is a full 27 chapters, or maybe it was 28, can't remember. I hope that everyone that's reading it enjoys it, and fell free to tell me so. I love nothing more then reading comments, either good or bad. Thanks for reading, and have a great day!_

Chapter 7

Dean's eyes slowly opened, being met by nothing but darkness as he tried to focus on the world around him. Throwing off the blanket covering him, he swung his legs off the bed and firmly planted his feet on the floor. Rising and shuffling in the direction of the bathroom, he flipped the switch, lighting the one, lone, dim bulb in the row of four. He stood at the toilet, oblivious to the crimson shade of the stream hitting the water inside. Finally empty, he leaned against the sink and carefully studied himself in the mirror, not caring for the reflection coming back at him. His face was pale, his eyes sunken in and dull, and he still had spots of blood in various places across his forehead. Turning on the water, he cupped his hands under the flow, letting them fill, and splashed the water against his face in an effort to clear his head.

He felt the rigid body behind him, crushing him between it and the sink, and grabbing him by the forehead. Jerking his head violently and forcing him up straight, Dean stared in awe at the new reflection in the mirror. He opened his mouth, only one word escaping as a wide grin spread across his brother's face, the knife that was carving a bloody smile across his throat reflecting the single, solitary bulb above the sink.

"Sam!"

The shriek woke Sam instantly, as he watched his brother thrash violently in his bed, fists swinging at nothing. He leapt the short distance between the two of them and grabbed Dean's arms, trying to hold him down.

"Dean, wake up!" He screamed, his words falling on totally deaf ears.

The more Sam tried restraining him, the harder he fought, fists swinging wildly in every direction. Jay came running from the bathroom at the sounds of the screams and the struggle.

"Oh my god Sam, what's wrong? I just went to the bathroom for a minute."

"Help me hold him down!" Sam barked, unable to control Dean himself. Bruised and battered, he still had the strength of an ox on steroids.

Jay grabbed Dean's left arm, pinning it to the bed with a strength truly surprising Sam, as he pinned down Dean's right. Arms immobile, he continued fighting them, legs kicking, but connecting with nothing. He jerked his head and chest so hard trying to escape, Sam thought he was going to add whiplash to his already long list of injuries.

"Let me go! Get off me! I swear to God, I'll kill you Sam!" Dean screamed, fighting with every ounce of strength he had. "SAM, NO! Please Sam, please,,,"

Sam was scared now. Whatever nightmare Dean was having, he appeared to be trapped inside, and Sam had to find a way to bring his brother out of it. Holding him down was becoming more and more difficult, and if he couldn't wake Dean soon, this situation would only go from bad to worse, real fast. Add that to the fact that Dean had just threatened to kill Sam, and they had the makings of a disaster. In the calmest, softest voice Sam could muster, he spoke to his brother, not really sure if he was even getting through to him.

"Dean, please, calm down. No one is hurting you. You need to relax before you hurt yourself."

The more Sam spoke, the less Dean flailed. Sam noticed it right away, and just kept talking, trying to sound even calmer yet.

"Dean, you're having a nightmare. Come on man, just wake up, and it will be all over. Please Dean, you're really scaring me."

Sam must have said the magic words, because Dean's body relaxed, almost to the point of being totally limp, his breathing coming in short, strained gasps. As Dean's eyes slowly started to flutter open, Sam let go of his arm, and Jay did the same. As some sense of normalcy started coming back into the room, Sam continued to talk to him.

"Dean, look at me. You need to relax. Take deep breaths, calm down."

Dean tried as best he could to see his brother, but his glazed eyes just wouldn't focus on anything farther then a few inches from is face. He reached out his hand, and Sam took it, assuring his brother that he was really there beside him. He tried to control his breathing, each breath becoming deeper, longer, more relaxed, until he was finally able to breathe normally. Sam was finally able to relax a little too.

"You ok now?"

"No, not really," the sigh was deep, the signs of pain returning to Dean's haggard face.

"Want to tell me what that was all about?"

"No, not really," the response worked the first time, why not use it again. Dean knew he could stall all he wanted, but eventually, Sam would drag it all out of him.

Sam knew Dean was being evasive, and decided to switch tactics. "Your head still hurt?"

"Does a chicken have feathers?"

"Not when it's breaded and deep fried."

"Yeah, well right now, it's hanging out in the hen house, laying eggs."

"That bad, huh? How about your back?"

"What about my back?" The look on Dean's face told Sam his brother was hiding something.

"Dean, you have, like, a size fifteen boot print tattooed on your back, and an extra seven stitches in your head. What the hell happened after I left, and don't tell me nothing, because it was obviously something."

"Sam, really, it was no…'

"DEAN!" Sam hollered, his accompanying scowl so deep his brows had become one. Dean knew he wasn't getting out of anything now.

"Fine. After I called you, I felt like taking a shower, no big deal. I got a little light-headed when I got out, that's all," at least, that's all Dean intended on telling Sam.

"That's all. You got a little light-headed, smashed your head against the mirror, fell on your ass, then cracked your head on the floor. That's what you're trying to tell me? Bullshit, I know there's something you're not telling me Dean, so spill it. You asked my why I kicked you. Why would you think I kicked you?"

"When did I ask you that?" _Damn it, I have a big mouth when I'm incoherent, _he thought to himself.

"Right before you passed out and I stitched your head back up."

"I thought I saw something in the mirror, then, I'd swear someone kicked me, then everything went dark. That's all I remember until now. I must have been having a weird flashback from last night, that's all. Stop over dramatizing this Sam, it really was nothing." _Yeah, because seeing your brother in a mirror before someone kicks your ass, and then dreaming about him slitting your throat is nothing, _

_"What did you see Dean? In the mirror?"_

"You. I thought I saw you Sam."

Sam had been so focused on his brother, he forgot Jay was still there, until she cleared her throat innocently.

"Oh god, Jay, I'm sorry. Dean, you remember Jay, don't you?"

"I don't know how I could forget, but I guess I did. How much of that did you see, anyway?" Dean couldn't hide the embarrassment on his face.

"Oh, I didn't see a thing," she smiled.

"What about your two sisters, the one on your left and the one on your right?"

"Don't worry, they didn't see anything either."

"Dean, you really don't see three of her, do you? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam made the peace sign, staring Dean in the eyes, noticing how unfocused they really were.

"Which hand Sam? I count six fingers, three hands. Pretty sure that's not right, but it'll have to do for now."

"Listen Sam, I think I'm gonna go, it's pretty late. I'll call you in the morning."

"Oh, sweetheart, you don't have to leave on my account. Sam here is done interrogating me anyway, aren't you, Sammy?"

Face turned to Dean, he answered, in a matter of fact tone of voice, "No, I'm not." Switching his focus to Jay, he told her, "I'll walk you to the door."

"That's ok, I'll show myself out," she planted a wet kiss across Sam's lips before she left, "Good night Sam."

Finally alone, Dean knew he had to tell Sam what he was dreading to bring up. He just thanked god that Sam didn't bring it up before.

"Sam, about that nightmare. It kinda started out with THAT dream, you know the one, gotta piss, then you do, in the dream I mean, but then…you know."

"Dean, you didn't?"

"Yeah, I think I did, and I think I need another shower."

"You're having triple vision, and you want to take a shower. NO WAY. I'll put you in my bed, and you're staying there until you see only one of me. No argument."

"Bitch," flew Dean's favorite insult.

"Jerk," Sam retorted, as he pulled the blankets off his brother, eyes wide when he saw the red stains across the sheets. "Dean, I really think you need to see a doctor."

Hearing the soft knock on the door, Sam grabbed the comforter, throwing it back over Dean, before heading to the door, cracking it open only slightly. Jay stood there, smiling the second she saw Sam's face.

"Sorry to bother you, but I have something I wanted to give you before I left. Please don't think I'm weird, or a druggie, but I had these left over from a broken foot a few months back. They're great for pain. Take them, you may need them. I'll call you tomorrow." Shoving the little brown bottle of Percocet into Sam's hands, she strolled back to her car, blowing Sam a kiss as she left.

Once a safe distance away, Jay pulled her phone from her pocket. Punching in the number she wanted, she made her conversation quick.

"It's me. Listen very carefully, because I'm only going to say this once. You don't make another move until I tell you to, you got that? You could have killed him, and the time's not right, not yet. Be patient, you'll get what you want, after I get what I want. You rush this, you'll ruin it for both of us. I've set the next step in motion, now we wait, you understand?" Getting the answer she obviously wanted, she ended her conversation with just one word.

"Good."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Sam, I don't need to go see some doctor who'll only poke and prod and invade my personal space, just to have him tell me what I already know. It's not the first time, probably won't be the last either. If it's not better in a couple days, then you can take me wherever you want to, deal? Besides, if it was that bad, I probably would have bled to death already."

"It's not just that Dean. Your vision shouldn't still be that blurry, you're seeing things that aren't there, and you've been sleeping way too much. You may have hurt your head worse then just needing stitches. You should at least get checked out."

"Sam, it's been a day since Adam Vinatieri used me for field goal practice. I think you can wait a little more then 24 hours before you start freaking out about brain damage. We've been through this more then once, all three of us. Just be patient, please. Now, are you going to help me into the bathroom, or do I need to do it myself? The talk of a shower wasn't a suggestion, it was a statement."

"Alright, you win, for now. You have until tomorrow. If you aren't any better, I'm taking you in, whether you like it or not."

Dean closed his eyes, silently thanking whatever god that was listening to his brother's worry wart doting give him at least a days reprieve from Sam's badgering. He knew his brother meant well, but he couldn't shake the feeling that most of this never would have happened if Sam had had his back. He knew the feelings of blame were totally unreasonable, but the lingering ache in his chest and the memory of his brother pulling the trigger of the empty gun he held in his face in that filthy asylum's basement was too fresh in his mind to forget. So was the look of absolute hate and contempt he'd seen in his brother's eyes. He knew, or at least hoped, that had been the source of his nightmare. He didn't want to take it as the warning his gut was telling him it really was.

He threw off the blanket, not looking down at what Sam had already seen, because if he didn't see it, it really wasn't there. He slowly raised his back off the bed, steadying himself with shaky arms, until he was finally in an upright position. Mission half accomplished, he took in a deep breath before dropping his feet to the floor, one slowly after the other. His feet firmly planted on solid ground, the hard surface actually helped clear his cloudy mind, if only a little. Sam watched as Dean finally got himself into a full sitting position, knowing that when he was ready for help, he'd ask.

Dean sat on the edge of his bed for longer then Sam would have liked, eyes closed, head down, brow sweating like he'd just run a marathon. Finally finding the strength to look at Sam, he continued on sheer determination alone. The look was the only request Dean would make of his brother.

Sam was beside him in an instant, arm extended for his brother to take. Latching on with as firm a grip as he could manage, he slowly stood, steadying himself against Sam as his vision started slowly going dark at the edges. Sam held him up with his free hand, as he felt the weakness in his brother's legs reverberate through his entire body. He wanted to force Dean back down, but he knew his brother needed to retake some control over himself. Head hung low, he rode out the wave of wooziness and nausea that currently floated all around him. After a few long minutes and a few deep breaths, Dean slowly allowed his eyes to open, focusing only on Sam's face, at least the one in the center of three Sam faces.

"You alright now?" Sam couldn't help but ask, staring at his brother's colorless face.

"Dude, this totally sucks worse then a five dollar whore. Help me to the door, I'll be good from there."

Sam's face twisted in displeasure at his brother's crass comment, but at least he was making them. "Are you sure. If you're that determined to do this, at least let me help you. I don't want you falling flat on your face again."

"You can help me shower the day you turn into a hot blonde with big tits and a warm, wet…"

"DEAN, I GET THE POINT!"

"Speaking of hot blondes, you are gonna tell me all about your new friend, right? How does a geek like you get a hot chick like that anyway? I couldn't get a good look at her face, but I'm betting you don't need a fifth of Jack and a pillow over it to fu …"

"OK, that's enough. Just take your shower, by yourself. But don't lock the door."

"Yes mother," Dean returned Sam's whine with one of his own, slamming the door behind him.

Hearing the lock click, Sam started instantly pounding, only to hear soft laughter coming from the other side, and a whispered, "Just kidding. Dude, you need to take a Midol."

Sam waited at the door, listening intently, finally relaxing slightly when he heard the shower curtain hooks scrape against the ancient metal rod as the curtain was pulled back, followed by the groaning of the old, rusty pipes as Dean turned on the water, starting the flow. Another whip of the curtain told Sam his brother was safely inside, and he went about the chore of stripping Dean's bed.

Comforter, blanket, and sheets thrown to the floor, Sam removed the plastic cover hidden underneath, it's sole purpose of protecting the mattress from just this sort of accident accomplished. Stripping his own bed, he pulled out the flat sheet from his blankets, using it to recover his brother's now bare bed. He grabbed the keys to the Impala, and stepped from the room only long enough to grab their two sleeping bags from the trunk, hastily making his way back into the room in Olympic sprinter's time. He spread one bag out atop the mattress, laying the other over it, giving Dean something clean to sleep on again. Sam gathered up the soiled bedding, shoving them into the little coat closet at the door. He remade his own bed, throwing Dean's bag on it when he'd finished. Rummaging through his brother's stuff, he readied clean clothes for him to climb into, once he finally came out.

He dropped himself into a chair, staring at the bathroom door, listening to the water still stream. Sam knew Dean had been in there long enough to use all their hot water, plus the hot water from each adjoining room, probably running out of that a long time ago as well. He stood at the door, gently knocking, then intently listening. Hearing nothing, he knocked more forcefully, this time calling his brother's name. Still no response, he pounded this time, his voice more of a panicked yelp.

"Dean, answer me, or I'm coming in. I'm gonna count to three. One…two…"

Sam lost count as he felt the cold dampness creep up his foot, soaking the toe of his sock on his shoeless foot, seeing the thin river of water seep out from under the door as he looked down. Grabbing the handle, he twisted, shoving the door open with enough force to drive the door knob into the dry wall behind it.

Dean was on his one hand and knees, shivering uncontrollably as he cradled his battered ribs in the other hand. The shower curtain half torn from it's rod allowed cold water to pound on him and spray onto the floor. A pool had grown, sending tendrils of water in various directions, one of which flowed out the door, saturating the carpet beyond. Sam quickly shut off the faucet, ending the freezing barrage against his brother's body. Pulling on the nearest towel, he wrapped it around Dean, his too white skin nothing but a mass of goose bumps, as he breathed hard and fast.

"Dean, what's wrong now?"

Teeth gritted, Dean took a deep breath before answering, "Twisted funny, popped something," he mumbled, clutching his side even harder. The pain had taken his breath away, dropping him hard, and not subsiding.

"Don't move, I'll be right back."

Sam stepped from the tiny bathroom, pulling the dirty blanket from the closet and Jay's bottle of pills from the nightstand. Spreading the blanket across the slick tile floor like a rug, he filled a glass with water, and knelt back down against the tub, extracting one pill from the bottle and holding it up against Dean's lips.

"Take this, it should help." he instructed, holding the glass of water up next when the pill disappeared from his hand.

Hands shaking, Sam helped Dean take in the water, trying to swallow it without choking. He dropped his head and waited, as Sam examined the large lump that had formed at the edge of the dark bruise adoring his brother's rib cage. Sam knew what it was, and knew there was no time like the present. Better he do it now before that pill took effect, pretty sure if he waited, it would defeat the purpose. Placing the palm of his hand over the hard lump, he braced his other hand on the opposing side for leverage.

"Dean, this is going to hurt. A lot."

"I know. Just do it Sam," he whispered, holding his breath and preparing himself for what he knew was coming.

With a hard, forceful push, Sam popped the dislodged rib back between the cartilage that was supposed to hold it in place and protect it, as Dean struggled to keep the thin hold on consciousness he currently had. He held his breath for what seemed like forever, Sam half expecting him to start turning blue.

"Breathe Dean, before you pass out!"

The harsh order forced Dean to expel the current breath he's been holding in, as he slowly took in one mouthful of air after another. His body relaxed as the agony gave way to just pain, the adrenaline rush that had been keeping him upright finally wearing off. Sam could see him starting to shut down, as he trembled beneath his hands. Standing and wrapping his arms around him at the chest, he pulled Dean up and onto his feet, dragging him from the bathroom and back to his bed, his body still dripping wet. He threw back the top bag as he lowered Dean to the bed, positioning him on his back and tucking him in like a baby.

"You still with me Dean?"

"Yeah,"

"I have to wrap those ribs, you know that, don't you?"

"I know."

Sam got up, retrieving their first aid kit still residing on the bathroom floor, right where Sam had left it hours earlier. Bringing it back to his brother's side, he dug through it, irritation becoming evident when he could not find what he was looking for.

"Dean, where's the elastic wrap? It's not here."

"Threw it away," his response mumbled as he struggled to stay awake. Those drugs were definitely kicking in now, as he felt his whole body start to relax.

"When, and why?"

"Yesterday morning. Wrapped my chest after, you know, the rock salt. Got blood on it, had to toss it."

"I'm so sorry Dean. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Sokay Saaaammmm, doesn't huurrt anymore. Goood stuuufff, thaaat pill," he slurred, on the verge of sleep yet again.

Sam listened to the sound of Dean's breathing even out and deepen as he drifted further and further into slumber. He knew he needed supplies, but had no intentions of leaving his brother alone for a single second. With no other viable option, he picked up his phone, dialing the only person he could think of for help.

"Hi Sam. Everything ok?" Jay's soft voice questioned over the phone, almost as if she was reading Sam's mind.

"For now. Listen, I need your help."

"Anything, just ask."

"Can you pick up a couple things and bring them here? I don't want to leave Dean alone right now."

"What do you need? I'll be right there."

Sam dictated a list of immediate necessities, not quite a mile long, but close enough. Jay acknowledged each one, not once questioning why. Sam ended his call with three or four thank-yous before hanging up, letting his phone land softly on the bed next to him as he laid on his back, counting the spots on the ceiling, then counting them again, just to make sure he got it right the first time.

He'd lost all track of time as Dean's deep, steady breathing lulled him into almost sleep, the quiet rap on the door bringing him right back. He leapt up and quickly opened the door, unable to hold back the smile that came across his face when he saw her standing there, bags in hand. The simple sight of her already made him feel better, as he took the bags from her and motioned her in. She took a good, long look at Dean as she passed by him, the slight upturn of her lips hidden to Sam.

Sam silently went about emptying the bags, finding the item currently at the top of his list. Opening the packaging, he started wrapping Dean's ribs up tight, the task being complicated by his inability to sit Dean up. Good thing Sam was practically a pro at this sort of thing, as he had Dean bandaged up tighter then a drum in no time, without one moan or stir from his brother.

Covering him once again with the sleeping bag, Sam dropped himself on his own bed, his face buried in his hands, trying to deal with the feelings of guilt that suddenly flooded into him. Jay was in front of him in a matter of seconds, kneeling down to eye level, and grabbing him by the chin. Drawing his face up to hers, she smiled at him, their eyes locked in a soulful stare.

"Sam, what's wrong? He's going to be alright, isn't he?"

Sam couldn't put his feelings into words just yet. Every time he saw the pocked mark wounds on Dean's bare chest, or the deep purple bruises on his side, or the stitches in his head, or thought about that boot imprint on his back, the guilt multiplied, until it had just about consumed him. Tears welled in his eyes, knowing that every bruise, every cut, every pain were all his fault. All he could say finally came out in a hoarse whisper.

"This is all my fault."

Jay sat next to him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, drawing him into her as she laid down on the bed. She kissed him softly on the cheek, moving to his lips, finally whispering into his ear, "Did you give him one of those pills?"

"Yeah, I had to, why?"

She rolled on top of him, whispering yet again, "He'll be asleep well until morning. Let me make you feel better now."

She didn't even give Sam a chance to protest, and as she started undressing herself, then him. He'd forgotten all about his brother laying only a few feet away, as the anticipation of what was to come consumed his weary brain. Her lips were like magic, and all his thoughts focused on her, and her alone.

Jay rose from the bed, confident Sam was sound asleep. Throwing her clothes back on, she stepped over to Dean, who actually appeared to be sleeping peacefully for the first time in days. Placing a hand over his forehead, she whispered three simple words that would take that all away.

"Sweet dreams, Dean."

Breaking her hold, she climbed back into bed, next to Sam.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Notes:**_

_Ok, so here I am, sitting in a god awful bar in my little home town, with someone that claims to be my friend, listening to the worst classic rock cover band ever! At least I made good use of my time. So, as you read this, imagine Led Zeppelin on prozac, and if it stinks, blame them!_

_Not sure if i proofread either, sorry for any errors._

Chapter 9

Dean was running. Running, but going nowhere. Down the dirty hall that had no end, passing one locked door after another, searching for something. He couldn't quit wrap his mind around what he was searching for, but he thought for sure if he just kept running, he'd find it. He knew each door he passed housed the ghost of some long forgotten patient from the old nut house, many of whom had died trying to kill their tormentor. Now, he realized where exactly it was he was. He was back at Roosevelt, and gaining that little bit of knowledge told him what he'd been searching for. He was searching for Sam.

Sweating profusely and out of breath, he finally came to the end of the hall, it abruptly stopping at a small, steel door. The handle was cold in his hand, the unnatural shiver it sent up his spine a warning to him that he needed to be alert. He pulled the door open cautiously, warily stepping into the tiny room, it being barely more then a closet. The walls were covered in dirt and grime, the smell of mold and decay assaulting his senses with a ferocity that made his eyes water.

Standing dead center of the room, he heard the soft howl of wind blowing through a crack in the wall near the floor. Kneeling before it to investigate, he stumbled back as the wall started crumbling in front of him, pieces of plaster and wood flying in various directions. Utterly decimated, the wall was now gone, leaving him face to face with it's destructor. Leaving him face to face with Sam.

His brother stood before him, brandishing a sawed off shotgun in one hand, and a pistol in the other, both fully loaded for bear. He smiled at Dean as he raised the shotgun and fired without any hesitation, hitting him dead center in the chest, this time not with rock salt, but buck shot. As he landed hard on his back, he felt the warm stickiness of blood spread across his chest, making him struggle to draw in breath. Sam stood over him, still sporting that evil smile, as he dropped his full weight down to sit, pinning Dean hard against the floor. He rested the barrel of the pistol on Dean's forehead as his face contorted in a wild rage and anger before he spoke.

"You pathetic piece of garbage. Dad's little lap dog, always following him around while he waves a bone in your face, but you just can't ever seem to catch it, can you? No, you just let him drag you around by that short leash he keeps you on, not caring how bad it chokes you sometimes."

"Sam…"

Sam ignored him, continuing his tirade undaunted, "Always following orders, always doing what you're told. Probably why he ditched you in the first place. He was so tired of doing your thinking for you, he just had to get away from you. So what do you do, you come looking for me. God forbid Dean has to spend on minute all by himself. You know, you were right, I do hate you. You don't deserve to even breathe the same air I breathe. Maybe I should just put you out of your misery now, before you do something stupid and get me killed," he sneered, his finger slowly squeezing the trigger.

"Sam, No, please…" was the last thing he said before the flash of light blinded his eyes, and the hot metal drove itself into his skull.

Sam woke to the sound of his own name being softly whispered in his ear, her voice filling his mind with the sweet vision of her face. He slowly opened his eyes, but saw nothing in the absolute darkness of the room. He felt her though, her warm, firm body against his bare flesh, as he rolled to his side, pulling her even tighter against him and wrapping his arm around her. He buried his face in her hair, the scent sweeter then honey. He thought he could lay there with her in his arms all day and night, knowing he never wanted to let her go. She whispered his name again, as her lips brushed his ear, a quiver running through him as her breath softly caressed his cheek.

"Sam, I need to go," he heard her quietly murmur, as she attempted to rise.

Sam's reaction was instantaneous, "No, just stay here and let me hold you a little longer. I don't want this moment to end."

"I don't either, but I've got to go, and you need to get up," she told him, matter of factly.

"Why? Why do we need to get up?"

"Because Dean's been tossing and turning for a while now, and I think I just heard him call your name. I think it would be better if I wasn't here when he woke up, I'm sure he doesn't want me around considering how he must feel."

Sam had been so lost in the moment with her that he'd totally forgotten his bruised and battered brother was sleeping only five feet from him in the other bed. Gone for the moment was the sea of guilt and remorse he'd been drowning in the last couple days, every time he was with her. The stranglehold it had on him disappearing whenever they were together. He needed her, he didn't want her to go, but he knew she was right. Right now, he needed to take care of Dean.

"Will I see you later?" He asked, almost in a beg.

"That's a dumb question, isn't it. When you're ready for company, just call. Until then, look after your brother. I think he needs you right now more then I do."

She climbed over Sam, grabbing her few remaining things, and made to leave. Sam leapt from the bed, grabbing her one more time as he firmly planted his lips against hers, their tongues dancing to their own music. She broke the embrace first, whispering one last thing to him before she walked out the door.  
"I love you Sam," with a wink, she slipped behind the door, closing it behind her.

"I love you too," he whispered to himself.

He flipped on the bathroom light, needing some illumination to find his scattered clothes, but not wanting to disturb his sleeping brother yet. The light was dim, but it was enough, as he threw his boxers and t-shirt back on, finding no real need for pants at the moment. He grabbed a few pieces of the uneaten pizza that had been sitting for what seemed like days, but had only really been there since earlier that afternoon, and tossed them into the crappy little motel microwave. He hadn't eaten all day, and neither had Dean, and he, himself was starving. It was after three in the morning, technically making it the next day.

Dean's restlessness caught Sam's attention, the zipper of the sleeping bag jangling with each toss and turn he made. He watched Dean in the dim light, as his facial expressions told the tale of what was going on in his brother's head, as Sam envisioned it to be nothing less then a horror movie, complete with NC-17 rating.

"Sam," he groaned, as Sam watched him try to lift his arms, not being able to peel his elbows away from the bed.

Sitting next to Dean, he shook his shoulder, trying to bring him out of his current state of sleep gently.

"Dean, wake up, you're having another nightmare. Come on man, snap out of it."

Sam's tone was calming, this episode thankfully far less violent then the last one. There was no thrashing or flailing, only tossing and turning, with the occasional mumbling Sam couldn't quite make out. His first attempt unsuccessful at rousing Dean, he tried again, as the nightmare continued.

"Come on Dean, wake up," he shook him a little harder with each word, still getting no response.

"Sam, no, please…"

Dean's mumbled words were followed by the sharp jerking of his head, as Sam's concern reached yet another level higher then he thought even possible. Sam was almost sure Dean was going to snap his neck if he kept it up, but mercifully, his body finally relaxed, becoming deathly still, as a stream of blood started flowing from his nose. Sam watched the crimson river snake it's way down his brother's face, pooling between his lips, continuing on it's way down until it slowly ended in droplets against his chest.

Sam was thankful the towel he'd wrapped his brother in earlier had been deposited on the floor, and was within arms reach. Throwing it over one hand, he slid his arm under Dean's back, trying desperately to bring him to a sitting position. Limp and unresponsive, he sat Dean up as straight as he could, his head lolling back before Sam could stop it. As the blood started flowing down the back of his throat, Dean started to choke, the gagging sounds causing Sam's stomach to turn. Pinching Dean's nose closed between his thumb and forefinger, he slowly tilted his head forward, cradling his brother against his chest, holding on to him for dear life.

"Dude, now would be a really good time to wake up. I'm about two seconds away from throwing your ass in the car and driving you to the nearest ER."

"I'm awake Sam, just wanted to cuddle with you a little while longer," Dean's voice was hushed and nasal, but Sam was grateful just to hear it.

"Thought I wasn't your type."

"Your not, but if snuggling up to you keeps me from choking on my own blood, I guess I can switch teams temporarily."

"Dean, you have such a way with words," Sam huffed, shaking his head in utter disbelief at some of the garbage that comes from his brother's mouth.

"Sam, do you think Dad took off because of me?"

The question came from way out of the blue, taking Sam totally by surprise. "Why would you think that Dean? Is that what that nightmare was all about? Jesus Christ Dean, was it about Dad?"

"No Sam, it wasn't about Dad, not really," he said, regretting he brought it up in the first place.

"Then what was it about? You were jerking like you were having a seizure, then your nose starts bleeding like someone sliced an artery open."

Dean's body tensed up instantly at Sam's last words, the image of his brother slitting his throat still as fresh in his mind as his brother blowing his face off was. Sam sensed the reaction in his brother, feeling him physically tighten against him, and kept pushing for answers. He knew if he gave Dean any time to think, he'd never tell him anything.

"Dean, you need to tell me what's wrong. Please, let me help you," Sam's voice becoming a whiny beg.

"It was just a nightmare Sam, that's all. Let it go, please."

"It wasn't just a nightmare Dean, it was the second one in less then a day. Why won't you tell me what it was?"

"Because I don't remember it Sam," he lied, hoping that would be the end of it.

"Why do I not believe that?"

"Because you're Sam, that's why."

"Yeah, well Sam's tired of holding your ass up, so lay back down, and let me see if your brain hemorrhage has stopped."

Sam guided his brother back down, still squeezing his nose tight until he was finally flat on his back again. Releasing his firm hold and pulling away the bloody towel, he watched for a few long moments, waiting for the flow to start again, thankful it never did.  
"Dude, take a picture," Dean shot at Sam, forcing a smile he knew Sam would never believe was genuine.

"Maybe I should, it may make you look better," fake smile returned.

"Ouch, that hurt."

"Truth always does, right?"

Sam left his spot on the bed, stopping first at the microwave, then to the bathroom, then back to his spot, completing his round trip. Wet washcloth in hand, he wiped the blood off Dean's face and chest, his normally defiant brother giving no protest whatsoever. Satisfied he'd gotten it all, he went back to the microwave, bringing back a small container and a spoon. Dean had already drifted into a light sleep, the effects of the earlier drugs still not fully worn off yet. Sam brought him back to coherence when he lifted his back off the bed, piling pillows high behind it and dropping him back down into an almost upright position.

"Dean, take this, you need to eat."

Sam held the container in front of his brother, waiting for him to take it. Dean stared at it for a moment before extending a hand and reaching out, missing on the first try, but connecting on the second. Forcing a spoon into Dean's other hand, Sam took to that tone again, the one that made Dean feel like he was six.

"How many of them did you see?"  
"What?" Dean answered the question with his own question, knowing exactly what Sam meant when he asked it.

"The bowl Dean, how many do you see? If you could see straight, you wouldn't have missed the first time, so, I'll ask you again, how many?"

"Down Fido, there's only two of them now, happy? And what the hell is this crap anyway? Chicken soup? I don't have the flu Sam, where's the damn pizza?"

"You eat that first, and keep it in your stomach, then we'll talk about pizza. Do you have any idea how many times you've either thrown up or attempted to throw up in the last twenty four hours?"

"No, and I really don't want you to tell me either."

Dean's look of disgust was all Sam needed to see to know that no matter how much his brother complained, Sam, at least for now, was in charge. The little container of soup may not have been much, but it took all the effort Dean could afford to finish it, forcing down the last few spoons with great effort. He hated admitting to himself that Sam was right, so he wouldn't. The thought alone was enough to concede victory to his brother, because in cases like this, Sam was always right. He also knew he better figure out a way to make Sam think he was getting better, because the plain truth of the matter was, he wasn't. If anything, he felt worse. His head was pounding, every inch of his body ached, and now, his throat was dry, raw, and burned like it was on fire. Yeah, it was gonna be another fun day.

Jay parked behind the building, quietly creeping up to the door to her room and silently entering. Motel walls were thin, and with her hearing, she could hear everything as well as if she was in the room with them. That meant 'he' had heard everything that went on in the room earlier, but that didn't matter. Sam was hers, and Dean would be his. She knew what he had planned for Dean, but she really didn't care. Sam wouldn't need him anymore anyway, since he had her.

He sat in the corner of the dark room, not really needing light to see her as she came in. He stared at her as she approached, the feelings he channeled not quite enough to make him accept the face he was looking at. His kind always absorbed the thoughts and feelings of the ones they mimicked, the older ones learning how to control them with age and experience.

"How much longer is this going to take? I could have finished him a long time ago, and your precious Sam would still be yours. You have him wrapped so tight around your finger, he doesn't know which end is his ass and which end is his head anymore."

Flipping on the light, she stared at him, the face he wore not eliciting the same emotions as the one on the other side of the wall. He was impatient, and his impatience was going to get them caught, or worse.

"You need to be patient. You don't want what happened to your child to happen to you, do you? Dean may be a wounded animal, but even wounded, he is still dangerous. You will have your revenge, all in good time. One of two more nightmares should break him down, then he's all yours, to do with whatever you please."

"And how, exactly, do you plan on separating them? Sam won't leave him alone, not until he can take care of himself. That doesn't sound like it's happening anytime soon."

"You heard it from Dean himself, if he isn't better by today, Sam can take him anywhere he wants. I'm doubting he's going to be any better today, in fact, he may just get worse before he gets better."

"And that benefits us how?"

"You'll see. Trust me, everything is going exactly as planned. Just make damn sure you don't screw your end up. If he realized you aren't who you pretend to be, we're through."

"Don't worry, he'll never know I'm not really Sam."

_**End Notes:**_

_Bless all of you that still like this story, and thanks to all that tell me so!_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: ** I apologize to anyone leaving a review that has not been responded to. I find it rude to ignore, but the response system here is so totally not what I'm used to I can't remember if I've responded or I haven't. To anyone that feels I've ignored their gracious comments, I truly apologize, and I promise to do better. Thanks for understanding.

Chapter 10

Dean never realized how exhausting it was to merely keep his eyes open, until he had to do actually do it. He had to keep it up though, it being step one in his eight step 'Convince Sammy You're Ok' program. At this rate, he wasn't sure he'd have the energy to make it even to step two. Sam's constant scrutiny tired him out just as much as breathing. _Damn, this day sucks, _he thought.

"Hey Sam, maybe we should just pack up and leave. This town's been nothing but trouble since we got here. It must have some really bad anti-Winchester karma."

Sam felt a slight sense of panic rise in him at his brother's suggestion, Dean being obviously blind to Sam's current situation.

"No Dean. You're in no condition to go anywhere right now. When you can drive, then we can leave."

"Come on Sam, I can drive."

"I bet you can, just not straight."

"Whatever, dude."

Dean threw off his covers, the cool air of the room brushing over his bare body and sending a chill through him from head to toe. Putting all his effort into making his movements look fluid and natural, he sat up, pulling his feet off the bed. They hit the floor with a hard thump, as Sam studied him intensely, waiting for any indication his brother needed help.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sam asked him, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

Rising to his feet, arm tight against his side, he took a few short steps in Sam's direction, stopping in front of his brother and looked him directly in the eye.

"I'm going to drop the kids off at the pool. You got the newspaper there? Need a little light reading to amuse me," he shot his brother that 'Dean' smile, the one that usually got him his way.

"You can read the newspaper?" Sam suspicion obvious in his voice as he asked Dean his question.

"Sam, I've been reading since I was four. Hand it over, and give a guy a little personal space," Dean held out his hand, waiting for Sam to deposit his request. _God, I wish he'd hurry up, I can't stand here all day._

Grabbing the paper from the table, Sam held it out to Dean, not quite far enough for him to grab, and most definitely not dropping it in his hand. Dean grabbed it from Sam's hand in one, quick swipe, tucking it under his arm as he went.

"Paper's two day old Dean," Sam informed the back of his brother's head, since he'd already turned around and started walking away.

"That's ok Sam. I don't remember the last two days anyway, so it will all be news to me," Dean announced, closing the door behind him.

Silently turning the lock, Dean dropped the paper and sank to the floor, thankful to be out of Sam's relentless stare, even if only for a few minutes. He had no intention of reading that paper, or anything else, since he still couldn't focus on it enough to make anyway of the words anyway. Leaning heavily against the tub, he breathed in slow and deep, feeling the cool porcelain against the hot flesh on his back. He couldn't decide if he was hot, or cold, or both. Sitting there breathing, he tried to regain some of the strength he'd totally spent just making his way into the bathroom, knowing he'd eventually need to make his way out again, and back into Sam's glare.

Struggling to his feet, he balanced himself in front of the sink, turning on the cold water and letting it flow into his cupped hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he took a good drink, trying to put out the fire now raging in his throat. He forced the water down, each mouthful he took in harder and harder to swallow. Splashing the final handful into his face, he looked up, the broken mirror driving a vivid flashback deep into his brain.

"Shake it off Dean, it was just a dream," he mumbled to himself, forcing the memory from his mind as he rubbed his aching back, cringing at his own touch.

The sound he dreaded finally came, as Sam's knuckles connected quietly but authoritatively with the door.

"Dean, you ok?"

"Sam, can I have more the five minutes of personal time, please?" Dean said it in his most annoyed tone of voice as possible, he himself not really believing it.

"You've already had fifteen Dean. Are you sure you're alright?"

Fifteen minutes! He couldn't believe he'd been in there for fifteen minutes already. "Five more please, bus isn't quite unloaded yet." _Yeah, five more, because if I come out looking like this, I'm in deep shit. _

_"Five more, then I'm coming in."_

Knowing Sam meant what he said, Dean splashed one more fistful of water in his face, running his wet hands through his hair and wincing when his fingers made contact with both sets of stitches in his skull. Flushing the toilet for appearances sake only, Dean unlocked the door and inhaled deeply before exiting the room, façade strongly back in place. He took the few steps from the door to the bed in stride, plopping himself back down and throwing his covers back over his legs as he grabbed the remote and cranked up the TV, randomly flipping through channels. Sam eyed him with a scowl, not quite sure how, exactly, to interpret his brother's behavior. He looked fine, walked fine, acted fine, but Sam knew he was anything but fine, and the longer Sam stared, the more Dean could feel Sam's eyes bore into him, as he looked for anything amiss.

Without turning his blurry sight away from the TV, he shot at Sam the burning question of the day, at least his question of the day.

"Dude, don't you have anything better to do then stare at me?"

"No, not really," Sam just smiled, his gaze unbroken.

"Sam, you're creeping me out. Go do something, I'm not going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight."

Dean didn't need to look in Sam's direction to know that his hard gaze had finally fallen elsewhere, letting him breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Step two, or maybe it was three complete, he dug his head into his pillow, training his eyes on the TV and trying as hard as he possibly could to appear to actually be watching it. He heard the soft tones of Windows start up, as Sam's fingers clicked away at the keyboard.

Dean's eyes slowly drifted closed, the time it took for him to open them getting longer and longer with each blink, until they finally just stayed shut. Not fully asleep just yet, his mind drifted to how truly horrible the last few days had been. He had hidden his pain from Sam, both the physical and emotional. He couldn't get the image of Sam's hateful eyes from his mind, as the click of the empty chamber from Sam pulling the trigger still echoed in his ears, and he couldn't help but wonder if his brother really did hate him on some subconscious level. Those were the thoughts he took with him as sleep finally settled in, taking him on the ride with it.

Sam had been clicking away mindlessly on his keyboard, concentrating on the sound of Dean's breathing. Sam knew he still wasn't totally with it yet, although he did have to admit that his brother had put on a pretty good show. Dean would be asleep within a few minutes of his head falling back into his pillow, of that he was sure. Hearing the deep, steady breaths, accompanied by the light snore, he knew Dean was out yet again.

Closing the top to his computer, he stretched out on his own bed, realizing he really hadn't slept very much over the last few days either, and it was finally starting to catch up with him. There was just something about Dean's light snore that always hypnotized Sam, the comforting sound lulling him into his own state of sleep, and as his world went dark, he fell into the deepest slumber he'd had in months.

Dean smelled something familiar, a scent he knew he didn't like. It was metallic, almost coppery, mixed with mold and dust. He opened his eyes, seeing nothing in the black room around him. His hands were restrained at the wrists, his feet shackled at the ankles, and his head and chest were strapped down to a cold, metal table. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but they never did, making him feel like a blind man. He heard sounds around him from all different directions, the chills coursing up and down his spine as he heard the soft chatter of rats searching for a meal. He struggled to move, but nothing would give. He was trapped, somewhere in the dark, with no one to help him.

He heard the heavy footsteps coming down the hall, fear rising inside as they got closer and closer, the sound of each foot hitting the ground all too familiar to his ears. He heard them stop mere feet from his head, as the sound of heavy breathing filled the stagnant air. He heard a switch flipped, the light it brought on blinding him, as the bare bulb hit him square in the face, battering his eyes. His captor spoke to him as he moved the light away, wanting Dean to see him face to face before he began.

"So, Dean, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into now?"

The voice was unmistakable, and as the spots before his eyes finally dissipated, Dean found himself face to face with Sam. Forcing himself to look away from the crazed eyes of his brother, he tried instead to get a look at his surroundings, finding it difficult to make anything out without the luxury of head movement. The little room was filthy, the walls black with dirt and god only knew what else. He laid on a hospital gurney, or so he thought, probably taken straight from a psych ward. The psych ward thought told him he was yet again in that god forsaken asylum, down in the torture chamber basement. From the corner of his eye, he could see what appeared to be two very long, metal rods, with finger grips at the top, and a sharp pointed tip at the bottom. He'd seen them before, never close up and personal though, the thought of what they were used for making him break out in a cold sweat. His body immediately tensed, the action not being lost on Sam.

"Sam, what are you doing?" He asked, thinking that had probably not been the best of questions to start with.

"What do you think I'm doing, Dean? I'm trying to give you a mind of your own, that's all. Maybe, if I disconnect yours from Dad's, you'll be able to think for yourself. I mean, you really do only have half a brain, right. You can't function without someone else's other half. Don't worry, this won't hurt… much."

Sam picked up one tool, waving it before his brother's eyes as Dean struggled to break free of the bonds that held him tight to the table. Rubbing his wrists raw, he knew that was just wasted energy, he wasn't going anywhere. Staring at the torture device his brother now held in front of his face, his stomach turned as the bright light reflected off the shiny metal, right back into his eyes. He waved it back and forth, softly touching Dean's skin and drawing in down his face with the hard tip as he spoke to him, tormenting him.

"You know what this is, oh brother of mine? They call them the ice picks, pretty simple actually, and a rather overused instrument here at Roosevelt, all those lobotomies they performed so unsuccessfully. They'd just slide the tip under the eyelid, around the eyeball, and with a little mallet, gently tap it into the brain, then wiggle it around a little bit, cutting off one side from the other. It'll make you a new man, better then the pathetic shell of the one you are now. You know, I've really got to thank Dr. Ellicott for showing me the light. I never would have realized what a hopeless fool you are without him."

"Sam, please, don't. Whatever I've done, do I deserve this?"

"Whatever you've done? Let's talk about what you've done Dean? You drove Dad away with your ridiculous need to please, then, when you can't find him, you come looking for me. Drag me away from the good life I had, the good woman I had. When you finally get it through your thick head that I don't want to stay with you on your ridiculous quest, you bring me back, back to a dead girlfriend. You ruined my life Dean, now I'm going to ruin yours. When this is done, I'm going back to school, where I belong. I don't care if I ever find Dad. You need him, I don't."

"You don't mean that Sam, you can't mean that," Dean's voice was a whisper, the shock and hurt of what he'd just heard come from Sam's mouth too much for him to process, to much for him to bear.

Sam was done talking. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. Forcing Dean's eyelid open, he placed the tip of the pick underneath, slowly sliding it around his eye until he felt nothing but soft tissue behind.

"OH GOD SAM, NO, PLEASE!" he screamed, his voice riddled with the terror he felt welling inside him.

Sam ignored him, that wicked, evil grin spreading across his face. Finding no use for a mallet to gently tap the instrument with, he grasped the free end of the pick, and with the palm of his other hand, gave the handled end a hard whack, driving the spike deep into Dean's head. The scream that escaped Dean's lips was shrill and blood-curdling, intense heat flooding his entire body as it started to shake violently. The reaction seemed to please Sam even more, as he viciously jerked the tool around, tearing through his brother's brain without any hesitation.

"Sam….." was the last word that escaped from Dean's lips, as his body went limp, his breath almost non-existent.

The gentle knock on the door woke Sam as Dean continued his light snore. Sam rose from his bed, knowing it could only be one person that had come to call. Opening the door, his face beamed, as he saw Jay standing before him, bathed in bright sunlight. She looked angelic as the sunshine radiated from her blonde hair, her soft face, her deep beautiful eyes, at least she did to Sam. He slipped outside, knowing voices were likely to wake Dean from his rest. Kissing her on the forehead, he drew him to her, wanting to feel her warmth against him.

"Everything ok Sam?"

"Yeah, everything's good. Dean's asleep, but I finally think he's started to heal, so we better keep it quiet. Come on, let's go inside. It's freezing out here."

It was cold this time of year, especially in Northern Illinois. Hell, it was cold anywhere north this time of year. They slipped back inside to the warmth of the room, never getting a chance to even look at one another. Dean's mumbling caught their attention immediately, Sam only able to make out part of what he'd heard.

"Sam……doing?"

The mumbling turned into jerking, Dean trying to move his arms and legs as some invisible force held them firm to the bed. Sam sat next to him, his voice usually calming, but this time seeming to only agitate Dean more. He twisted and jerked, each movement of attempted escape from the unseen terror finding no success. The next thing Sam heard made his skin crawl, the sound of his name from his brother's lips in a terrified beg shocking him momentarily, Dean's voice no longer a hushed mumble.

"Sam, please, don't. Whatever I've done, do I deserve this?"

Resting a hand on his brother's sweat soaked chest, he pulled it back the second he felt the heat pouring off him. Dean's body was on fire, fever wracking every muscle and joint of his already over abused body. Sam didn't know how much more his brother would be able to take before finally shutting down completely. He had to wake him, somehow. He slapped his cheeks, lightly, in the hopes of drawing him back to reality. Dean's next words sent Sam's mind reeling, the nightmare obviously centered around Sam himself.

"You don't mean that Sam, you can't mean that."

"Dean, wake up!" Sam shook him with a lot more force then he wanted to, desperation taking hold of him now, not just needing to wake Dean, but needing to save Dean. Needing to save Dean from him.

"Sam, what can I do?" Jay asked Sam, her face almost as horrorstruck as Sam's, yet her's had the slightest hint of a smile on it.

"Ice water, and a washcloth. He's burning up, we need to cool him off. Maybe the cold will wake him up and pull him out of whatever hell he's in now."

Jay bolted from the bed, grabbing the plastic ice bucket and running out the door. No sooner then her slamming it behind her, Dean's pleading turned into screaming, as Sam was on the verge of losing his sanity.

"OH GOD SAM, NO, PLEASE!"

The terror in his brother's voice made Sam start to shake, knowing he had to do something, but everything he did meaning nothing, as Dean continued his long, painful, bone chilling scream, followed by a fit of spasms he couldn't stand to watch. Sam thought he was going to pass out, until he felt Jay next to him, as she draped a cold rag over Dean's chest, then another over his forehead. The scream finally ending, Dean whispered one final word.

"Sam."

The way it escaped his lips, and the way his body went loose and lifeless, told Sam he had no other choice, and as he saw his brother barely breathing, he looked at Jay with tears in his eyes.

"Call 911."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: sorry again for the lack of response, I promise I will do better!

Chapter 11

"Breathe, please Dean, breathe."

Sam begged his brother to take in air, tears starting to stream their way down his face as panic starting to set in when he saw no rise or fall of his brother's chest. Pressing his two fingers against the hot flesh on Dean's neck, he immediately found his brother's pulse, the hard and fast throb pounding it's way through Sam's fingers and straight into him, settling in his head. Dean was still alive. Lifting Dean's eyelid to check for some type of response, Sam was shocked even more at the crimson stare that was returned to him.

Sam pushed his panic back down as far into the pit of his stomach as he could, knowing if Dean couldn't breathe on his own, he'd have to do it for him. Throwing the pillows under his brother's head to the floor and laying him flat on the mattress, he shoved the wet washcloth away and ignored the heat radiating from him as he laid his hand flat across his forehead, tilting his chin up with the other. He pulled his jaws apart, and taking in a deep breath, covered Dean's mouth with his own as he pinched his nose closed and exhaled with all his might.

Nothing. The air Sam tried to give Dean went nowhere. Repositioning Dean's head, he inhaled deeply again and blew, but still, nothing. Sam felt the tears start to stream down his face even harder when he suddenly felt the death grip on his wrist, the hand clamped around it connected to his brother's arm.

Sam's eyes followed the hand up the arm, over the shoulder, and into the face of his brother, his eyes now open wide with fear, silently relaying the message he desperately needed Sam to hear. Clawing at his own throat with his free and squeezing with all his might with the other, Sam understood instantly.

Jay sat watching the whole scene, the message relayed to her in the same instant it was sent to Sam, and she, too, knew what it meant. She also knew she had to do something about it. She leaned over Dean, his eyes never leaving Sam's, as she forced open his mouth, seeing for herself the cause of Dean's inability to take in air.

"Sam, his airway is swollen shut. No matter what you do, or how hard you blow, he won't be able to breathe on his own. Do you have a scalpel in that first aid kit, or a really sharp knife? I'm also gonna need a straw, or a pen, or something about that size that's hollow."

Sam pulled out his knife from his pocket, thankful for the first time in his life that Dean was as anal about keeping the weapons in tip top shape as he was. He flipped it open, handing it to her handle first, trying to figure out what she could use as tubing. He stretched his long body as far as he could with Dean holding on for dear life, finally able to snag his bag with a finger, and dragging it to him. He tore through his duffle, every item he came up with useless. Ripping through his bathroom stuff, he dumped the contents on the floor, scattering the items in a dozen different directions. His eyes settled on a disposable razor, the handle hollow all the way to the razor top. He snapped the hard plastic top off like a dandelion head, leaving a perfectly shaped piece of tube.

Jay grabbed a pillow, instructing Sam what to do next.

"Lift him up Sam, I need this under his shoulders, his head needs to be tipped back."

Sam lifted Dean off the bed far enough for Jay to shove the pillow under his shoulders, his head hanging back and exposing every muscle and vein in his throat.

"Are you ready?" She asked, the question directed at both of them, knowing she'd be doing it to them both.

Dean grabbed Sam's hand, their eyes locking on each others again, Dean's in a look of desperation and Sam's of fear. Dean's eyes said it all, said he was ready, silently begging for help.

"Ready," Sam told her, knowing he wasn't, but if Dean was, he had to be.

Pressing the sharp tip of the knife against his throat just below his Adam's apple, Dean's body immediately tensed, his grip on Sam's hand so tight he could have crushed every bone inside into dust. She cut through skin, muscle, and connective tissue swiftly, gently pulling the flesh apart, as Dean pounded the mattress with his free hand, his body twitching with each blow. Sharp knives and jerking movements definitely did not go together, and Sam knew that. He grabbed hold of Dean's other hand at the wrist, cutting off the movement, sliding his own hand into Dean's fist and clasping their fingers together, as Dean's nails dug deep into Sam's skin.

"Relax Dean, it's almost done," he whispered his reassurance, hoping and praying it would be of some comfort.

Jay's vision obscured by the blood pooling inside, she reached for the cold rag she had draped over Dean's chest in an effort to cool him, his body heat rendering it barely damp and warm now. Twisting the corner into a tight wad of material, she forced it as gently into the opening as she could, soaking up the blood that had collected, trying to get a good look inside. Seeing it clearly, she ran the tip of the knife across Dean's windpipe, making her incision very carefully. Tossing the knife to the side, she slowly slid the razor handle into place, pinching the skin tight around it.

Dean's eyes slowly closed as his chest finally began to rise and fall, his grip on Sam's hand still firm from either fear, pain, or both, but slightly more relaxed. He was no longer crushing Sam's hands, just holding on by necessity. Jay located the first aid kit, pulling out the medical tape and tossing it open next to Sam. She ripped off two pieces, pulling the skin tight against the tube and sealing it closed.

"Sam, keep him still, and make sure that stays closed tight. I'll go call an ambulance."

Jay got up, making her way to the door, phone in hand. She opened it and slipped out quietly into the bright sunlight, punching 911. She gave the operator their location, explained the situation, then hung up, not really finding any need to stay on the line as the operators always asked. She dialed a second number, waiting patiently for an answer, her voice expressing nothing but the sheer pleasure she felt.

"This is an unexpected surprise. It's going to make everything so much easier……That's right, divide and conquer. Don't do anything stupid, I'll call you when it's time."

Hanging up, she stood out in the cool air, listening and waiting for the sirens to come.

Sam stared into space, adrenaline finally starting to slow it's rampant flow through his body, as physical exhaustion started catching up with the mental. His mind was fried, the rollercoaster of the last few days never slowing down or seeming to find the station to let them off. Feeling the intense heat still pouring from his brother's body, he wanted to know just how bad Dean was before the paramedics showed up and carted him away, leaving him to sit for hours in the waiting room of some overcrowded hospital, as sick and injured people paraded past him endlessly, their misery all their own. Reluctantly pulling one hand free from Dean's, he grabbed the thermometer from the kit laying just inches from him, the beeping from him turning it on making his brother open his eyes.

"Can you open your mouth? I want to take your temp before they come, I want to know what it is."

Dean had no energy left to fight, as he let Sam confirm what he already knew, and he braced himself for the barrage to come. Hearing the three little, ominous beeps, he pinched his eyes closed tight.

"103, Dean, it's 103. Damn it, did you have a fever earlier, before you fell asleep?"

Knowing he couldn't speak, Dean just shrugged his shoulders, indicating to Sam he had no idea. He could barely remember what happened when he was awake last, the nightmare he'd had when he was sleeping followed by the nightmare he'd just awoken to pushing everything else from his tortured mind. He just stared at Sam through glassy eyes, wanting nothing more then to just go back to dreamless sleep. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had dreamless sleep either, every time he dozed off, one horrific nightmare after another seemed to find him.

Sam reached for the washcloth he'd tossed to the side, soaking it in the ice water next to the bed and draping it over Dean's forehead, the cold water running down the sides of his face like tears. Or maybe they were tears, he really couldn't be sure. Sam couldn't even imagine what kind of hell his brother had just been through, wanting to breathe, needing to breathe, and not being able to draw in any air.

"You breathing ok?"

With just enough movement for Sam to see, he closed his eyes again and shook his head yes.

"You in a lot of pain?"

Again, moving just enough for his answer to be obvious, he shook left to right for a no. The momentarily slight squeeze to the hand he anchored himself to Sam with told him differently though, his eyes still shut, but Sam didn't need to see them to know.

"You know Dean, you really need to get over this macho hang-up you have about being sick or hurt. You do this every time something's wrong, and it always ends up like this or worse in the end. You always drove me and Dad nuts, you know that, never admitting you need anything?"

Dean opened his eyes and stared at Sam following those words, the nightmare still vivid in his head, the words almost echoing what he'd heard from dream Sam's lips. Sam felt Dean tense, saw the look in his eyes, and remembered what he'd heard come from his Dean's mouth.

"Dean, we ARE going to talk about that nightmare, maybe not today, but count on it, we will hash it out, and don't even think about using the excuse that you can't remember, because I know that's bullshit. Whatever it is, you need to let me help you, because I don't want to go through this again, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to either."

Dean's mind started drifting again as his eyes shut yet again, hearing Sam's words, but being unable to really listen to what he said. He felt the cold start to creep in, up his legs, into his body, up through his chest and shoulders, and into his head, as he started trembling. He started to curl in on himself, trying to keep in the heat that was permeating throughout his body from escaping, not even realizing that the heat needed escaping. There was far too much of it to stay inside. Sam watched as the chills started to overtake Dean, saw him try to roll over and protect himself, and forced his onto his back, not wanting to tempt fate anymore today.  
"Dude, you've got to stay on your back, you can't roll over yet. I know you're cold, but you gotta stay put, at least for now."

Dean heard, and understood, shaking slightly yes again. Sam was not normally an opportunist, but he was curious on just how much information he could garner from his brother before the ambulance arrived, figuring he had him in a pretty open mind right now that Sam had to keep occupied for the time being. Sticking with yes,/no questions, he started right in.

"Dean, did you have nightmares before we got here, to Rockford?"

Eyes never opening, he shook Sam a definite no.

"Did you have nightmares before Roosevelt?"

He answered with another no.

"They all started after…?" Sam didn't want to elaborate on after, they both knew what he meant.

Hesitating for a moment, Dean's head moved in the opposite direction, a definite yes.

"I someone hurting you in them?"

More hesitation before answering, like something was trying to stop him, before another yes.

"Is it me?"

Dean's head didn't move, either he was unwilling or unable to answer.

"Dean, please, answer me," Sam's tone was a beg, he needed to know what was really going on in his brother's head.

Finally finding the strength, Dean answered with a final yes.

Sam's tears welled up again, as they started snaking their way down his face.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: As previously stated, this story is posted and complete at another website, and has been for over a month now. If you find any strange coincidences between this story and recently aired episodes, it's purely coincidental (at least on my part)

Chapter 12

There were times when Sam hated being right, and this one catapulted itself right to the top of his list. As he sat in the ridiculously hectic waiting room staring at the drab gray walls, the hard plastic chairs that were about as comfortable as an iron maiden, and the dingy floor that has seen so much misery before, he paced back and forth like a caged animal, watching, waiting, for anyone to come and tell him what the hell was going on. He'd been waiting for three hours, but he hadn't been waiting alone. Jay was right by his side, ready to offer him comfort at a moments notice, and for that, Sam was grateful. He replayed the last few hours in his head, trying to digest what he'd learned, trying to figure out what to do, and trying to come up with an answer before he had to face his brother.

The details were frozen in Sam's head like still photos in a scrapbook, his brother's face a mixture of pain and torment, both physical and mental. The last thing Dean relayed to him before the paramedics showed up was the fact that HE was his own brother's torture. Sam had been so stunned at that revelation, he couldn't think of another thing to say, so he waited in silence for them to come. When they finally did, after a millennium of waiting, they wasted no time pushing Sam out of their way and went to work, his daze making concentrating on what they were doing almost impossible. Jay had somehow made her way back into the room, her arms curling around Sam's waist a huge comfort to him. Sam wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding on to her in the hopes of her offering him some sort of security, his mind trying to come up with an answer to the question of how his life had gone so out of control in the last several months. The only thing he could come up with was simple, he was a Winchester. That pretty much said it all.

He'd lost just about all his focus by the time he felt the tap on his shoulder, the burly medic asking him if he was riding with, as Dean was already out the door and loaded inside. He'd answered with a few colorful phrases that translated into 'try and keep me away and see what happens' as he jogged to the awaiting ambulance and climbed in, Jay telling him she'd be right behind. Loaded and secured, they rolled out, leaving the empty motel room far behind.

The ride had been short, only taking a matter of minutes from the time the siren and lights went on to the time they pulled up to the emergency room doors, both EMTs out of the vehicle in a heartbeat and wheeling Dean through the doors. He didn't even get a chance to take one last glance, they were gone before Sam had even climbed out. He raced in behind, seeing no sight of his brother anywhere.

Someone caught a good look at him though and approached, stern look on her face and standard clipboard in hand. Sam didn't listen to a word she said, just took the papers she shoved at him, filled them out mindlessly, and returned them, wanting to kick himself later when he realized he just used Dean's actual name on them. '_Too late now' _Sam thought, the pencil-pusher already long gone. Knowing the routine, Sam took a seat in the corner, as the wait clock started ticking. Jay found him easily in the crowded waiting room, people scattered everywhere like jigsaw puzzle pieces thrown from a box, all in disarray. Sam vaguely hearing something about a five care pile-up on I-90, he sat wondering if this was the only hospital in Rockford seeing patients today. Somehow he doubted it, but wouldn't that just be their luck anyway.

Jay sat next to him, taking his hand in hers, gently stroking the four blood-crusted gouges in his hand. Like a mother to an injured child, she licked her thumb, gently trying to wipe the blood away, Sam just telling her to leave it where it was. In some twisted way, he wanted to see it, needed to see it, to remind him of how grave the whole situation had become. So, she just held his hand and waited right along side him, as he'd sit, then get up and pace, then sit some more.

"Dean Winchester?"

Sam's stomach dropped at the voice announcing the request of his presence. He turned and stepped forward, his mind bouncing between relief and dread, answering the call.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean had decided after answering Sam's last question not to 'say' anything else, thankful for the first time in his life he couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, even if he wanted to. It didn't really matter though, Sam had stopped asking, the last answer stabbing him in the heart as much as it had stabbed Sam. He just didn't have the strength to dodge Sam's verbal bullets anymore, each one hitting their target dead center now that all his energy had been sapped. He decided he'd try to just doze off and let them do whatever they wanted to him, not really giving a crap what it may be. He wasn't suffocating anymore, and that was good enough for him.

Ok, maybe he was wrong. The paramedics showed up, sticking needles here and there, shoving cold objects in his ear and in his mouth, barking commands back and forth to each other. Nothing unusual, all pretty much what he'd expected. He didn't listen to anything they said, because frankly, he just didn't give a damn. He was shaking uncontrollably from the cold, and wondered when someone had dropped him in the center of the Artic Circle, wet and in his underwear. Couldn't they see he was freezing? Couldn't someone just give him a freakin' blanket? Nope, instead of giving him a blanket, they threw off the only cover he had, tossing the sweat soaked sleeping bag to the side and exposing him to the frigid elements around him. His ears did catch one of the medics blurt out something to the effect of 'Damn, who'd you piss off' before he was lifted up, floating weightlessly momentarily before heading back down again, only to be blessed with a thin sheet for cover. Yeah, like that was gonna help.

The ride in the ambulance was short and sweet and thankfully uneventful. The rumble of the engine would have been enough to lull him to sleep if it hadn't been for the shrieking wail of the siren that overpowered it. His ears were overjoyed when the god awful sound finally ceased, silence momentarily settling into his head. He knew the fun was just beginning though, there was plenty more to come. He felt the bumping and bouncing, then the rush of wind against him, until finally, everything was still. He was just about there, just about asleep, until shit started hitting the fan.

He heard the curtain being pulled closed, as voices called around him in stereo, coming from all different directions, making him dizzy just hearing them. Damn it if they didn't take the lousy sheet away from him again too, his body trembling even more then before, if that was even possible. His mind caught a few things here and there, it just basically focusing on numbers. Numbers told him everything. He heard 103.6 and one-sixty two over ninety seven before he decided to stop listening again, not liking what he already heard.

He just wanted a blanket, was that too much to ask again? Nope, instead of giving him a blanket, this time they decided to cut off the only remaining thing covering him, the elastic wrap around his ribs, leaving him totally exposed. If that wasn't enough, some genius decided to roll him over, right onto his damaged side, and he couldn't even complain. Didn't matter, they wouldn't listen to him anyway. They were going to do whatever they wanted, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He felt them lay him back down, finally taking the pressure off his ribs, and if he could have breathed a sigh of relief, people on Mars would have heard it. That's when things turned not so pleasant anymore.

Someone started pressing and poking his side, sending waves of pain through him like electricity, jolting him from head to toe, while someone else was holding something they had no right to put a hand on, slowly sliding something into it that didn't belong there. They could have bought him a drink first before getting that personal, couldn't they? He could only pray that it had been a pretty nurse, and not some Gaylord Focker wanna be. That thought just made him shiver more, but who would really notice anyway? He cursed them mentally when they didn't remove it, knowing his bladder had to be empty by now. Great, they were leaving it there, that was just wonderful. This just keeps getting better and better.

Now, someone was pressing against his throat, and if that didn't feel about as good as sandpaper on a sunburn, he didn't know what did. One hand on his neck, and now there were fingers in his mouth, making him want to gag, but not being able to. He heard someone say something about aspirating something, but ignored it, until he figured out what exactly it was they were talking about. He tried forcing his mouth closed, but something was stopping it as the waves of heat and pain drove themselves through his head. Whatever they were doing hurt like hell, but for some reason, he felt his throat blessedly reopen. Wow, that was fun.

His ears tuned in sharply when he heard OR and surgery, the two phrases in the English language that instilled more fear in him then any supernatural badass ever could. So, now that he was paying attention, they'd stopped talking as he felt the sheet thrown back over him and the cool air brushing down his body as they moved down the hall, into an elevator, and up however many floors, finally coming to an abrupt stop. More footsteps and more unrecognizable chatter, until finally they stopped moving.

Up and over and down again, he just went for the ride, as somebody actually spoke to him for the first time. Oh shit, when had he opened his eyes? Who cares anyway, the guy probably didn't have anything to say that he wanted to hear. Warmth spread through him, as his mind slowly started drifting away, finally figuring out what he'd been told when he realized he was mentally doing it.

Ten…nine…eigggghhhhttttt…sevvvvvveeeennnnnnn,,,,,,

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"How's my brother?" His voice cracked as he forced the words out, almost wishing he could take them back, the sick feeling in his stomach now creeping into his head.

"Your Sam? Please, come with me, the doctor would like to speak to you."

Sam didn't like the way that sounded, or the look on the young nurse's face. He took in a deep breath, motioned for Jay to join him, knowing he would need someone to lean on, and followed her behind the doors to Dean's purgatory. The doctor was waiting for him in the bay that had housed his brother, who was obviously now absent.

"Sam Winchester?" She asked as her eyes met his, reading his answer. "I'm Dr. Matthews."

"How's my brother?" Sam tensed as he asked, knowing now would be painful truth time.

"Your brother is a very sick man. I need you to answer some questions for me, if you can, so we can properly treat him. Do you think you can do that."

"What questions?"

"Has your brother complained of a sore throat or ear ache in the last couple days, primarily on the right side?"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle when he thought about that, and answered her as honestly as he possibly could.

"Dean's throat could be lined with tacks and have a hot poker shoved down it and he'd still tell you he's fine."

"Great, he's one of those. Did you notice him having any difficulty swallowing recently?"

"No, but he hasn't really tried eating anything lately. Now that I think about it, that's probably why. Damn stubborn, pig headed…"

She cut him off from his tirade, she didn't have the time to let him continue. "When did you first notice his fever?"

"Right before all this happened. He was talking in his sleep, then the next thing we knew, he wasn't breathing. I thought he was fine, he said he was fine. Please, tell me what's wrong with him." Sam's voice was starting to take on a permanent begging tone, and he hated hearing it from his own lips.

"Last question. Does your brother have a history of tonsillitis?"

"No, none. Now please…" that whine again coming out full force.

"Your brother has a peritonsillar abscess, which, had someone not kicked the crap out of him, would probably have just been a mild case of strep, nothing some antibiotics couldn't take care of. It's rare for strep to develop into this, maybe one in one hundred, but his immune system was already overloaded trying to keep up with the bruised kidney that boot to the back left him with. That abscess was blocking his airway, that's why he couldn't breathe. Thank whoever the field surgeon was, they probably saved his life."

Sam's eyes wandered to Jay, who just stood there silently listening to every word the doctor said. Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up at him, their eyes meeting as he silently expressed his gratitude. The doctor saw the look too, knowing who to direct her next comments to.

"It was expert work, it probably won't even leave a very visible scar," she complimented Jay, then directed her attention back to Sam.

"Your brother's being prepped for surgery. I drained that abscess enough to open his airway back up, but I need to open it and fully clean it out. Depending on what I see, I may just take the whole tonsil out, but with no history of trouble, I may not do that. We'll close up that trachea opening, assuming we can get a tube down his throat. If all goes well, you can take him home in a few days, as long as he responds to the antibiotics."

"What do you mean, as long as he responds to the antibiotics?"

"He's got an infection starting in that kidney too. Once we don't see any more blood coming from it, it's a safe bet the antibiotics are working. That's about it. If you'll excuse me, I've got to head up. You can wait in the surgical area, third floor. I'll come find you there when we're done. Don't worry, everything will be fine," with that, she turned and left, not realizing that her words probably just jinxed everything she was planning on doing since she'd be doing it on a Winchester.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Sam, I'm sure the doctor's right. Everything will be fine, you'll see. They'll pump him full of pain killers and antibiotics, and he'll be good as new in no time. They probably do this kind of thing a dozen times a day, so I'm sure it's pretty routine. Come on, let's just head up there to wait. We can't do anything else right now anyway."

She grabbed Sam by the hand, her voice soothing to his ears, knowing he needed to hear the small comfort he seemed to be receiving as she spoke to him. The reassurance she offered sounded so promising, but Sam somehow didn't think the same way, he couldn't think the same way, because things never really went that way, not for them. Oh no, Sam had the feeling in the pit of his stomach that everything was not going to be fine. Sam was sure that things were just getting started.

His brother had almost died right before his eyes, would have died in fact, if Jay hadn't saved him. The doctor had all but told him so herself. He would have suffocated, and there would have been nothing Sam could have done about it. She also told him that none of this would have happened if Dean hadn't been so broken and abused to begin with, and that, Sam knew, **was** his fault. If he'd just had Dean's back, like Dean would have had his, none of this would have happened. He should have known that guy at the bar would wait for Dean and finish what he'd tried to start, because guys like that could never let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how tired they were. He'd abandoned Dean, and now, he was beaten and weak and sick, all because of him.

He couldn't get the vision of his brother gasping for air from his mind, the sheer look of horror spread across his face like a thick layer of fog over the English countryside, waiting for the werewolves to start their prowl. Every time Sam closed his eyes he saw Dean's staring back at him, the fear and helplessness totally foreign emotions to his brother, but relayed with perfect clarity once they had appeared. He'd never seen Dean like that before, his mask totally worn away, revealing most of his tortured soul in just a few brief moments.

Then there were the nightmares. Dean hadn't wanted to talk about it, what happened at Roosevelt, said he wasn't in the sharing and caring kind of mood. Sam knew what that meant. It meant don't bring it up again, ever. But how bad had Sam's words cut into Dean that he was having such fear inducing, painful nightmares? The horrible things he'd said combined with the shotgun blast he'd dished out had effected Dean so much more then he let on, the images they created buried deep inside, needing to be released, Dean's mind unable to push them down anymore while he slept as they crept out with a vengeance. Sam needed to know more, needed to know what was happening in those nightmares, what his brother thought he was doing to him in those nightmares. Sam had to stop those nightmares.

Sam had been so deep in his thought, he hadn't realized that Jay had led him to the elevators, walked him on, taken him up to the third floor, and guided him to the waiting area, until she was trying to make him sit down. He shook himself back to reality, taking in his surroundings. The crappy ER waiting room replaced with yet another crappy waiting room, but at least this one had semi-comfortable looking furniture. The ER clientele rented their rooms by the hour, but if you were waiting up here, that meant there was a room with your name on it and were probably on at least the three day two night trip, so they may as well keep the guests happy. Sam wondered just how long Dean would be a 'guest' here. A few days, the doctor had said, if he responds to antibiotics. If. He really hated the word IF. It was the most negative word Sam could think of, always making you see the dark side of every silver lining.

All this thinking was starting to make Sam's head swim, as the last few days all finally caught up with him at one time, his vision starting to cloud at the edges. Suddenly feeling him unsteady on his feet, Jay guided him to a couch, sitting and pulling him down with her, resting his head in her awaiting lap. She gently stroked is hair, running her finger along his ear, or cheek, telling him to relax, reminding him that everything would work out for the best. He was starting to drift, his mind and body both about to overload, but he didn't want sleep to find him just yet. He had something to say first.

"Thank-you Jay. Thank-you saving my brother's life. I don't know what I'd do without him, and I right now, I don't know what I'd do without you either."

"I would do anything for you Sam, remember that," she told him, as she continued stroking his hair, until he was fast asleep against her.

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Sam was so out of this world, he never heard the footsteps approach, and he barely felt the hand on his shoulder. He did hear his name though, the familiar sound of it bringing him rudely back to the waking world. He'd forgotten momentarily where he was, staring at the slightly familiar face in front of him. Where had he seen that face before? Taking a harder look, it all started flooding back. Hospital. Surgery. Dean. Duh.

"Sam, you with me?"

Picking his head up from Jay's lap and forcing his eyes open, he rubbed them fervently, trying to bring his mind back to full comprehension. Looking up at Jay as she sat there peacefully sleeping next to him, he finally focused on the doctor standing in front of him, as he gathered his thoughts and put them into the nutshell they just couldn't seem to stay in.

"Dr. Matthews? How's Dean?"

"He's going to be fine Sam. Drained his tonsil out quite nicely, put a couple stitches in is throat, and put him on some heavy antibiotics. His fever's down a little, but it's still pretty high. I expect that to change once those antibiotics start working. He's been in and out for the last hour or so. He asked for you, if you want to see him. It won't be long before he's out for the night, once the pain meds kick in. Frankly, I have no idea how he came out of the anesthesia as quickly as he did, or how he's even awake right now."

"I do. That's just Dean."

"Well, If you want to see him, you better make it quick. I'll have them wait a little while longer before giving him anything for pain, but not too long. He is going to need something, at least tonight. If you want to follow me, I'll show you to recovery."

"Sam, what's going on?"

Jay's voice was thick with sleep as her eyes started to flutter open, her gaze finally clearing and fixing on Sam. She saw the unmistakable look of relief that had washed over him, and hadn't needed to hear what the doctor had said to know what the outcome had been.

"Everything's alright?"

"Everything's fine. I'm gonna go see Dean. You want to come, or do you want to stay here?"

"I'll come, lead the way."

They all headed down a long hall, turning left, then right, then through some doors, finally ending up at the foot of the bed that had someone laying in it. Sam had to look twice, the momentary smile he'd had at the good news wiped clean off his face at the sight before him. He barely recognized his brother, and had to force away a cringe. His eyes were sunken in, the left one bloodshot, the entire right one a dark shade of red. His face was still flushed with fever as the sweat glistened off his forehead in the overhead light, the rest of him covered in hospital gown and blankets. He watched Sam come towards him, closing his eyes as if to hide himself away, even though he needed to see Sam more then anything right now.

"Sam, please don't let him try to talk much. He won't really be able to do more then whisper, but keep it to one or two words at a time, please. And don't worry about that eye, the bleeding into it's just a ruptured blood vessel. That will clear up on it's own, but it will look bad until then. They'll be coming to take him up to his room pretty soon, so if you don't have any questions, I'll leave you alone."

"No, thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll be down to check on you later," she was gone in a few short steps, leaving the brother's almost alone.

"Dean, how do you feel?"

"Tired," the answer more mouthed then spoken, it coming out in barely a whisper.

"Did you know you were that sick Dean? Honestly?"

"No Sam," he honestly answered for once in his life, too tired not to, each word causing a grimace of pain across his face that Sam could obviously see.

"You feel any better?"

"Feel alive. That's better."

"I guess, listen Dean, I'm sorry, for everything."

"S'ok Sam. I'm tired, you should go. Back to the motel. Come back tomorrow."

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

"No, go. I'm gonna sleep."

"I'll be back first thing in the morning, count in it."

"Yeah. Where's your friend?"

"Who? Jay?"

"Yeah, thank her, for me," Dean's eyes drifted closed, as he headed off to sleep, having finished saying what he wanted Sam to know.

Jay stepped out from the corner she'd taken up residence in, softly kissing Dean's hot forehead, and whispering to him before they left.

"Your welcome Dean, and good night."

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The room was dark by the time they'd returned, night having fallen hours before. Sam was exhausted. He didn't want to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep well into morning. Turning on the light, the memory of the days carnage flooded back to him, the sight of his brother's empty bed, the bloody towel, and the sweat stained pillows all reminding him why Dean wasn't here. He could almost see him laying there, dying. But he didn't, because Jay had saved him.

Jay entered right behind him, sensing Sam's emotional distress, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight against her. She could feel his heart beating through his chest, like it was trying to jump out and hide somewhere until it was safe to be in the real world again. She turned her head up to face him, his eyes locking onto hers like he was drowning and they were his lifeline. He gently cupped her face in his hands, as his lips drifted to hers, their kiss long and hard.

She slid Sam's jacket off him, throwing it to the floor and started on the buttons of his shirt, one by one, until they were wide open, and it, too, lay on the floor, next to the jacket. Slipping her own shirt over her head, she tossed it mindlessly onto the floor, creating her own pile. They did this dance together, until they were both totally bare, falling against Sam's bed in an intertwinement of flesh and limbs. Sam couldn't believe how good she felt as all the memories of the day vanished from his memory. All he could concentrate on right now was her, and her alone. He needed to feel her, more then anything, and she knew it.

"Sam, I'm sorry, but you need to hold that thought for just a minute," she whispered into his ear, quickly rising from the bed, picking up something off the floor, and slipping into the bathroom, leaving him momentarily stunned.

Jay quickly flipped open Sam's phone, hitting the hot key on the side and watching the display on the volume control drop one by one, until it passed over 'vibrate', as she settled the action bar on 'silence'. She flipped it closed again, tossing it back into the heap of clothes on the floor, before making her way back into Sam's arms, smiling to herself every step of the way, mumbling to herself as stepped, knowing Sam hadn't noticed a thing.

_"You are all mine tonight Sam, nothing is going to interrupt us this time."_

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Dean looked around, slightly disoriented, trying to figure out where he was. He thought he recognized the filthy walls around him, was pretty sure he'd been here before, but couldn't quite place when. He walked down the dirty hall, passing doors on his left and right, but seemed to be going nowhere. This was familiar, too familiar. Hearing a faint, distant calling, he stopped, glancing at the door on his left, then the one on his right. He thought he'd heard a distinct 'help me' asked from somewhere.

Stepping to his left and peering inside the dirty room, he saw a little boy sitting on the floor, knees curled up to his chest, rocking himself. The dark, curly hair and sad eyes surprised him, their familiarity striking a chord in his head. He knocked, trying to get the child's attention, only to be ignored. Turning the doorknob, he found it locked. He was going to try forcing his way in, sensing that child needed something, anything, when something behind him caught his attention.

Turning to face the door at his back, he saw a very familiar set of eyes through the tiny window. Moving towards it, he was eye to eye with Sam, his face begging for some kind of help. Dean tried that door, swinging it open easily, stepping through as a blinding light assaulted his eyes. He didn't care, Sam needed him, needed his help. He'd deal with whatever was in there when the time came.

The room was not at all what he expected. He stood in the center of two sets of church pews, each side with only three rows each. The walls were just as grimy as the ones in the hall, the floor covered in filth and torn out pages from the books that had been strewn everywhere. This was definitely a chapel, but it hadn't seen worshippers in years, that was obvious. Directly in front of him was a short aisle, ending at a large, simple wooden cross, and two alters with half burnt candles laying everywhere, dried wax attaching some permanently to the top. He slowly walked up the aisle to the steps leading up to the cross, stopping half way to examine one of the books he'd seen discarded on one of the pews. 'Holy Bible' was on the cover in large, gold letters, printed against the black background. In much smaller print on the bottom, Dean's body went numb when he saw what was written there. 'Property of Roosevelt Chapel'.

Like someone had paralyzed him, his body went limp, falling to the floor in a mass of flesh and bone, the only movement he could seemingly make was the darting of his eyes throughout the room. From his position on his side, he saw feet fast approaching him, as a hard and heavy foot connected with his chest, forcing him onto his back. Looking straight up, he felt a hand against his throat, as long fingers wrapped themselves around it and lifted him off the floor, bringing them face to face. He didn't need to look to know who he was face to face with.

"Dean, always willing to come to my rescue, always needing to be the savior, the martyr. So much self sacrifice, how can you stand it? How can you stand yourself? I'm so tired of you thinking you need to save me Dean, do you know that. I don't need saving, not from you, not from anyone. When are you going to let me live my own life, when are you going to let me be my own man? God, you are so pathetic."

"Sam, why are you doing this?"

"Why? Because I'm tired of being under your thumb, that's why. You and Dad both, always trying to protect me from the evils of the world, always trying to save me from myself. You know, if you really want to be my savior, I can make that happen. You know what they do to saviors, don't you?"

"Sam, you wouldn't?" The look of terror crossed Dean's face, knowing exactly what Sam meant.

"Oh yes, I would, and I am."

Sam dragged Dean's limp body up the aisle like he was a feather, his weight nothing to him, and tossed him at the base of the cross like a rag doll. His body landed hard against the wood, his lack of control rendering him helpless to stop himself. Sam ripped off Dean's shirt, leaving his chest bare, tossing it to the side next to the items laid out on the floor in front of him. He saw three large iron spikes and a hammer, and internally shuddered at what those could possibly be for. Sam picked the hammer up and started pounding long nails down the length and across the wooden cross. Satisfied he'd placed enough, he grabbed Dean by the throat again, lifting him up off the floor, his feet suspended inches from the ground, and slammed his back and shoulders against the nails he'd just pounded in, driving them deep into his skin and muscle, hanging him up like an old coat on a hook. The pain was intense, as gravity took hold of his dead weight, his flesh tearing as his body started sinking, heat pouring through him in waves.

Blood soaking his back, Dean cried out in pain as he watched Sam pick up one of the iron spikes. Turning to face Dean again, Sam took hold of his right arm, pinning it against the wood, pressing the spike into the palm of his hand, smiling maniacally at him as he did it. He tried to pull his hand away, tried to resist, but it was no use. His body would not do anything he told it to. He was trapped.

"You know what they do to savior's Dean, they crucify them," he sneered, hammer coming down hard against the spike over and over again, driving it through soft flesh and into the wood, until it forced it's way out the back, blood streaming down his arms and staining the floor.

Dean's first scream had been nothing compared to the second, and the third, each strike of the hammer releasing one cry after another. Horror mixed with agony, anger mixed with tears, as he hung there trembling, limp and helpless, at the mercy of the most important person in the world to him, the person who was now torturing him. Trying to catch his breath, he watched Sam pick up the second spike. Turning to face him again, he reached for the left hand, looking at him mockingly, and slammed it hard against the cross, driving the spike through with little effort.

"Somehow Dean, I'm doubting anyone is going to martyr you after this, you just aren't that worthy, are you?"

"Sam, please, just kill me."

"What? And ruin all this fun, no, I don't think so. No, death is too good for you, and I think I've got one more spike left. You think you know what I'm gonna do with that?"

"Oh god Sam, please……."

"No god here Dean, just you and me"

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The first scream caught the attention of the nurses at the station, two of them running into the room it had come from with Dr. Matthews right behind. It had been enough to make their blood run cold through their veins, all three of them. They watched as their patient jerked and twitched on his bed, trying to fight some unseen enemy. He was kicking and flailing, blood streaming in all different directions as the IV tubing hung unattached at the side of it's pole. Grabbing an arm each, the nurses tried holding him still, his strength coming from somewhere they just couldn't figure out. His body burned hot against theirs, as he continued his fight, continued to scream, the occasional hushed word escaping his lips in-between.

Dr. Matthews ran from the room, returning with two make orderlies and another nurse, ordering the orderlies to hold him down as she swabbed the upper part of his thigh, shooting him up with god knew what. Slowly, his body started to calm, until it want totally limp, as everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief.

"Reconnect that IV and start another to run light sedation through all night. I don't care what he's dreaming about, he can not be screaming like that. I want him watched around the clock, after you put him in restraints, and schedule a psych eval in the morning. And someone better go call his brother."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Sam felt the warm touch against his skin as he lay in his bed, her fingers gently caressing his face as she curled up beside him, the memories of the night before taking up every inch of space in his mind and making him feel almost whole and complete. Something was missing though, something just wasn't quite right, but he could not put a finger on it as the sounds of her breathing drove away all other thoughts. He held her in his arms, their bodies wrapped around each others in the same positions they'd fallen asleep in after both exhausted the other.

Finally deciding to open his eyes, he stared at her as she lay against his chest, her lips kissing the soft flesh on body in front of her face as her hair wrapped around his arm like soft silk, her smell still as sweet as it was the first time he knew her this way. Slowly rolling his head to the side, he took in the sights beyond him, beyond the present, the missing piece of his puzzle slamming itself hard and fast back into his brain as if Zeus himself had shot him with a lightning bolt of recognition. Staring at the clock, he mentally cursed at himself, then cursed out loud, before forcing himself up and rushing wordlessly off to the bathroom.

"Shit," he swore, already starting the day angry with himself. It was 11:00 in the morning already.

Sam jumped in the shower and jerked the water on, not caring what the temperature was. Soaping, lathering, and shampooing as fast as he possibly could, it had just started to warm up when he was finished. He grabbed the last clean towel off the rack, drying his chilled body as he stepped back into the room to dress. Catching Jay's stare from the corner of his eye, he tossed one piece of clothing after another from his bag, trying to find something clean to put on.

"I'm sorry Jay. I can't believe I slept that long. The water's warm if you want to shower, I've gotta get going."

Jay climbed from the bed and quickly made her way to Sam, wrapping her body around his still damp skin, intent on Sam not leaving without her.

"Give me five minutes, I'm coming with you," she begged, landing one more soft kiss against his chest.

She was in the bathroom in an instant, water on, water off, by the time Sam was fully dressed. She, too, came back into the room, naked and dripping wet.

"Sam, any chance I could get that towel from you?"

Sam sat on his bed staring, his mind blanketed by her yet again, as he grabbed the towel, bringing it to her to wrap her in. She took it from him, eyes on him intently.

"No time for that now Sam, we've got to go, remember?"

Jay dressed faster then Sam had and was ready to go before Sam even realized she'd put clothes on. She grabbed Sam's jacket from the floor, slipping his phone into the pocket before tossing it to him, him catching it and mindlessly slipping one arm after another inside, sliding it up his back and resting it on his shoulders.

"I'll drive. Let's go," they were both ready to go and out the door by 11:20.

The ride was short, although not as short as the day before, the luxury of an emergency vehicle leading the way no longer afforded to them. It didn't matter much though, they arrived in all of fifteen minutes, parked, and made it inside by 11:40. Sam was still angry with himself, even though it was still technically morning. Dean was gonna be pissed, he could actually hear it already. He was probably sitting there stewing, plotting his escape at this very moment, his AMA walking papers already signed and in hand, waiting for his ride to show up and take him away.

Bursting through the double doors, Sam stopped dead in his tracks, realizing for the first time he had no idea what room his brother was in. They'd left before he'd been moved, and never bothered to ask where he'd be in the morning. Making his way over to the information desk, he cursed yet again, as his anger with himself rose just another notch. This day was not starting out as he had envisioned it the night before. The cheery voice and big smile that greeted him only seemed to irritate him more, his annoyance starting to show.

"Good afternoon, can I help you?" She asked, sounding just a little too perky for Sam's liking at the moment.

"It's still morning thanks. I need my brother's room number, he was admitted last night. Dean Winchester," his voice coming out in a definite grumble, the irritation more with himself then anything else.

The young woman's smile turned to a forced grin at the sound of Sam's voice, as she typed away at her keyboard, the remaining smile totally removed as she examined her screen, it boldly stating 'Alert Nurses Station' in large red letters. The look wasn't lost on Sam either, his stomach sinking at the sight of her face.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem. Room 216. Elevators are down that hall."

"Thanks," Sam stated, although not very sincerely, as he made his way down the hall she'd directed him in, Jay close behind.

Noticing Sam a safe distance away, the formerly perky receptionist picked up her phone, hitting only one button, and waited for someone on the other end to answer.

"Second floor nurse's station," the voice chirped.

"Your patient in 216, his brother is on the way up."

"We're on it, thanks for the warning."

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Sam impatiently stood at the elevator doors, just about ready to start pounding on one to make it open.

"Screw this, I could have been up and down three times on the stairs by now. Let's go," he barked, grabbing Jay's hand and pushing himself through the stairwell doors, taking them two at a time until he'd made it to the second floor door.

Jay grabbed Sam by the arms, turned him to look at her square in the face before he had a chance to open the door, and softly spoke to him, sensing his anxiety.

"Sam, you need to calm yourself. I don't know where this agitation is coming from, but you really can't take it in there with you. You need to leave it here at the door. It won't do either one of you any good."

Sam closed his eyes, taking in a few deep breaths, trying to soothe his frazzled nerves. He didn't know what it was, but he felt something was wrong, terribly wrong. The look on that woman's face at the front desk said it all to him, and he dreaded finding out what exactly it was making him feel this way. He wrapped his arms around her one more time, feeling her comfort flow into him before finally turning and grabbing the door.

"I'm ok, let's go."

They slipped through the door and past the nurse's station unnoticed, not even realizing the nurses had been watching the elevators, waiting for him to step off. Following the room signs, they turned down the hall leading to 216, the door finally appearing in front of them. It was quiet inside, too quiet, and taking one more deep breath, Sam stepped in, his mouth dropping wide when he saw exactly what his stomach told him to expect.

Glassy eyes half open, Dean laid there, staring into the open space in front of him, not really focusing on any one thing in particular. He sensed more then saw Sam enter, eyes turning in his direction, a slight look of comprehension registering on his face when their eyes met. He raised a hand to wave, not quite figuring out why he couldn't move it more then a couple inches. After about the third try, he just gave up, letting his arm fall limply back at his side.

"Sam?' He asked, his voice barely audible.

"Dean," Sam responded, choking out his brother's name through the lump in his throat. "How do you feel?"

"Head's fuzzy… throat burns… need water…so tired…," he whispered, the words coming easier to his lips then to his brain, his thoughts just a jumbled pile of mess in his head.

Sam grabbed the cup that had been left on the bedside tray, the water still somewhat cold, and sat next to Dean's head, placing the straw against his brother's dry, chapped lips.

"Here, drink this. What happened last night Dean?"

Dean slowly took in water, finding swallowing almost impossible, as it trickled from his mouth and down his chin. Sam took the cup away, wiping the water from his brothers face with the back of his hand. Dean never had a chance to answer, the rather forceful voice from the door interrupting their pretty much one sided conversation.

"Mr. Winchester, can I speak to you, in private?"

Dr. Matthews was at the door, the look on her face telling Sam she wasn't taking no for an answer. He got up from his seat, squeezing his brother's arm before walking out the door. Hoping he was a safe distance away to speak without being heard, he started the conversation before she has a chance to think.

"First of all, I'm not Mr. Winchester, and you're damn lucky for that, because if you were dealing with my dad right now, you'd have one hell of a time explaining to him what the hell you put Dean in restraints for. I, on the other hand, will try to remain calm while you explain to me what, exactly in hell, is going on here."

Trying to keep her tone calm, Dr. Matthews began answering Sam's questions.

"Your brother had, shall we call it, and 'episode' last night, after you left."

"What kind of 'episode'? Sam asked, but he suspected he already knew what she was going to tell him.

"He had what appears to be a rather very vivid nightmare. He was screaming loud enough for the coma patients to hear, ripped out the IV in his arm, and dislodged the catheter with all the kicking and punching he was doing. I'm sorry Sam, we had no choice but restraints and sedation. He could have really hurt himself. I've cut off the meds for now, he should come around slowly, but once they work their way out of his system, whatever is causing those nightmares is just going to take hold again. I'd really like to set him up with the staff psychiatrist, just to evaluate him before we let him leave. You told me yourself that he'd had one right before you showed up here in the ER, and I'm willing to bet it wasn't the first, was it? I don't want it on my head if he hurts himself once he's out of my care."

Sam felt his heart drop into his stomach, as it rolled around inside, making him nauseas. He knew what she was going to say before she said it, but it didn't really hit him until he heard it. Dean never had nightmares like this, and Sam was starting to suspect something was seriously wrong, and not necessarily with Dean's head.

"Why didn't anyone contact me? I would have been here for him."

"We tried, several times. There was no answer. We finally gave up after about the fourth call. Check your voice mail, I'm sure there are a few messages there. He's starting to come out of the sedation, I really need to know what you plan on doing. I can have someone down here to talk to him within the hour."

"I need to speak to my brother before I ok that," he told her, having no intentions of letting any head doctor pick his brother's brain apart. They'd commit him for sure if that happened.

"I'll be at the nurses station, please come speak to me when you've decided. He needs some kind help, and I suspect soon."

Sam didn't wait for her to walk away, he just walked back into Dean's room and took his place in the seat next to the bed. Sensing his brother's return, Dean forced his eyes open and back onto Sam, the wheels in his head starting to turn, his need to tell Sam what he was thinking overpowering his need to sleep.

"Sam, I want you to go back," he whispered, his voice not willing to come out any louder than that to play.

"Go back? Go back where Dean? To the motel?" Sam's voice taking on the distinct tone of confusion.

"Go back to school Sam. I want you to go back to Stanford," the words came from Dean's lips in and almost begging plea.

"What? What are you talking about Dean?" The more his brother spoke, the more confused Sam got.

"I was selfish Sam, I should never have come for you. I want you to go back, back to your life. I'll find Dad myself," the more Dean spoke, the more his voice shook as his eyes no longer met Sam's. He either didn't want to look into them, or he just couldn't.

"I can't leave you Dean, not like this. This is just the drugs talking, you don't really mean any of this."

"Yes I do Sam, I mean every word. Please, just go."

Closing his eyes and rolling his head away from Sam, he essentially told him the conversation was over. He had no intentions of saying another word to his brother, no intentions of looking him in the eyes again. Dean didn't mean a word of what he'd said, but if righting what he felt he'd wronged gave him and Sam some peace, maybe he needed to do just that.

Sam just stood staring at his brother, shocked at what he'd just heard. After everything they'd been through the last couple of months, for Dean to just roll over and play dead was not going to happen. He turned around and stormed out, not even realizing Jay was right behind him. He stopped at the nurses station, grabbing the attention of Dr. Matthews, his determination unstoppable.

"Dr. Matthews, I want my brother ready to go when I come back later this afternoon. Prepare whatever paperwork you need, because we are leaving."

"Sam, I'd strongly advise against that. He's still passing blood from his kidney, and his fever is still hovering between 101 and 102. I don't think he's responding to the IV antibiotics because his fever should have come down more then that by now. If he's not responding to the IV, oral meds aren't going to even make a dent."

"I don't care what you'd strongly advise. I'm taking my brother, and we're leaving. Write him whatever prescriptions you need to, and have him ready to go when I come back for him. We are leaving with or without your help, understand?" Sam's tone was stern, he was NOT taking no for an answer either.

"I understand, but you're making a huge mistake."

"Then it'll be my mistake, and I'll have to live with it."

Sam turned and left, his legs taking him to the elevator faster then Jay could keep up with him. Her head was swimming as she tried to figure out exactly what Sam had in mind.

"Sam, where are we going?"

"Library. I need to do some research. Something is definitely not right here, and I need to figure out what. Dean would never say those things, that's just not him talking. Come on, we don't have much time. Oh, forget this," Sam grumbled, heading for the stairs once again, the elevator seemingly out of order.

They were down to the ground floor and heading for the door before Jay even had a second to think, but when she did, she knew what she had to do. She stopped in her tracks and grabbed Sam by the arm to stop him in his.

"Wait, I've gotta use the bathroom," she told him, not hesitating for a second before slipping through the door.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she dialed, the mystery man on the other end waiting anxiously for her to mouth the words he'd been dying to hear.

"It's Showtime."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He rumbled up in the Impala, killing the engine and heading inside, making his way up to the second floor cautiously, trying not to be seen by any of the staff. He carried a small bag with him, the necessities inside a must to aid in their escape. He snuck down the hall, quietly slipping into room 216 without being see by anyone and dropped the bag down on Dean's bed. Pulling out the clothes he'd stuffed inside, he handed them over, leaving the bag where it sat, not wanting to waste any more time.

Dean laid there atop the bed, unhooked from the needles and tubes, free from all other restraints, covered in nothing but a thin blanket and obviously hot and tired. Glancing to the clothes on the bed, he grabbed them, slowly pulling them on, his hands shaking and legs unsteady as he fumbled with socks and shoes.. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this, his body not ready to leave just yet, but his mind telling him something else. His mind telling him they had a plan.

"Come on Dean, we need to go. I think I've figured it all out. Meet me in the car downstairs. I parked at the ER doors."

He snuck out of the room just as unnoticed as he'd come in, never once being spotted. Finally fully dressed, he grabbed the bag that had been left on his bed, stuffed the various bottles of pills he'd been given inside, and walked out, eyes focused on nothing but the elevators in front of him. He mindlessly made his way downstairs, out the door, and to the awaiting car, it's familiar sight a small comfort to his exhausted mind. Climbing inside, he tossed the bag in the back, resting his sweat soaked brow against the cool glass of the window and closing his eyes.

"Where are we going Sam?" Dean asked in a whisper.

"We're going to end this," he responded, the sneer of pleasure spreading across his face as he started the car and pulled away.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sam threw the fifteenth book he'd burrowed through onto the table next to the other fourteen, the loud thud and accompanying curse earning him a look of utter contempt from the ancient dinosaur of a librarian behind the counter, her forefinger immediately pressing against her pursed lips in the universal warning Sam took instantly. Blowing out an even louder huff, Sam raised a finger of his own, pretty sure the old woman couldn't see anything beyond the nose on her face without the coke-bottle glasses that were currently strung around her neck. What started out as determination had quickly spiraled into frustration, the out of character hand gesture proof of that fact. Nothing he'd read in any of the books he'd pulled out told him anything he didn't already know, or couldn't find on the internet. He mentally kicked himself in the ass for wasting the last three hours, knowing he was right back to square one.

"Sam, what exactly is it you're looking for in these books? Some of this stuff is a little out there, don't you think? I mean, who really believes in witches and demons anyway? Here, this one says something about a demon that lies on top of you while you're sleeping and has sex with you, and this one is all about witches sending you bad dreams through their cats. You don't really believe any of this crap, do you?" Jay whispered to Sam, not wanting to bring the wrath of the librarian down on herself, since she already had her eye on Sam.

"Jay, if you only knew," Sam stated back, not really caring how loud he was anymore. He was at the edge of irritation and one more wrong thing was going to send him toppling over.

"If I only knew what Sam? How do you expect me to help you if you won't tell me what you're looking for in the first place?"

"If I told you, you would just think I'm crazy, and believe me, I'm not crazy."

"Then tell me. I promise, I won't think you're crazy."

Sam thought long and hard about what to say next before saying it, knowing he was treading on thin ice. He'd never revealed any of his past to anyone, not even Jessica. He looked into Jay's eyes, the haunting feeling that if he'd just told Jess everything, she'd still be with him, and immediately knew he couldn't make that same mistake twice. Briefly glancing at the crabby noise monitor at the desk, Sam noticed her attention had finally been directed elsewhere, the two teenagers in the corner having an extremely animated conversation about female anatomy with one another currently garnering her glare.

"Jay, remember when I told you my brother and I were taking care of some family business?"

"Yeah, road trip, right?"

"That wasn't the whole story. There's more to it, a lot more."  
"So, tell me, from the beginning."

Sam told her everything, choosing to give her the abridged version instead of all the gory details, starting with the fire and his mother's death, his father's obsession with finding her killer, their lives growing up training and hunting, the family fights, his leaving for school, their father going missing, Dean showing up asking for help, Jessica's death, and it's aftermath. He prayed that she wouldn't grab her stuff and take off screaming from the library to get away from the psychotic man sitting next to her, his story sounding like a bad Hollywood movie more then real life. He finally purged himself of everything, her eyes never leaving his as he spoke. She studied him carefully when he had finished. She knew most of what he'd told her already, but hearing it directly from him was hard to take, the way he told it conveying all the bottled up hurt inside wanting and needing to come out.

"So, you think something is making Dean have those nightmares, something that's in one of these books?" She asked him curiously, wanting to hear how close his answer would be to the actual truth.

Sam couldn't hide the look of surprise on his face at her question, amazed that somehow she didn't think him totally insane, and she may actually believe what she'd just heard.

"Yeah, I do. Something's wrong, I can feel it. Ever since…"

"Ever since what?"

"Nothing, never mind."

"No Sam, you need to tell me everything. Maybe I can help you find the answers you're looking for."

"Ok, you asked for it. We came to Rockford to investigate the old Roosevelt Asylum. We had a slight problem, and I sort of accidentally shot Dean with a shotgun full of rock salt."

"Rock salt?"

"I'll explain that later. One of the spirits got into my head, and I said a lot of horrible things that I didn't mean before it made me try to kill him. If that gun had been loaded, he'd be dead now. He saved my ass there, he finished the job. He said it didn't bother him, all the things I'd said, but I think it did, more then he will admit. I also think something may be feeding on that, making his nightmares worse, I just don't know what yet. Come on, we're not going to find anything here. I need to talk to Dean, he needs to tell me what's going on in that head of his. Maybe if he'll give me details, I can figure this out, maybe I can stop them."

"Sam, please don't take this the wrong way, but is it at all possible that maybe his problems really are his? Your dad going missing had to be pretty stressful, then what's been happening since just made things worse. Everyone has a breaking point Sam, maybe he's just found his."

"The thought crossed my mind, until this afternoon. No matter how bad things are, Dean would never push me away, ever. He knows I need to find Dad just as much as he does. No, there's more to this then meets the eye."

Sam got up to leave, piling his discarded books onto the return cart gently, noticing he'd once again caught the old maid's attention. All books returned in a nice, neat row, he quickly put on his jacket, and made for the door, Jay close behind. She had her phone in hand, pressing buttons furiously while Sam returned his research material, hitting send and slapping it closed by the time he'd replaced all fifteen, throwing on her own coat and following him out the door. Back in her car, the pulled out, their destination unknown to her.

"Where are we going now Sam?"

"Hospital. I need to get Dean out of there, before they put him in a straight jacket and lock him up. If he's drugged up, only god knows what he'll say, and I'm pretty sure the shrinks won't be as open minded as you were."

"Ok, hospital it is."

The ride took forever, the afternoon traffic already brutally slow moving. When they finally arrived and found an open parking spot, it was already well after four in the afternoon. Hurrying inside, Sam tried to mentally prepare himself for what would come next. He couldn't help but wonder if Dr. Matthews would take advantage of Dean's weakened mental state and convince him he needed to talk to someone about his nightmares, and after what he'd heard from his brother's mouth earlier, he didn't think Dean would have enough in him to resist.

He didn't bother with the elevator, opting to take the stairs yet again, as he bounded up them at a fast pace, pushing his way through the door to the second floor and speeding down the hallway in as few steps as possible. Making his way to room 216, he skidded to an abrupt halt at the door, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open in shock as his stomach clenched into knots, the sudden urge to vomit quickly becoming a stark reality. The room was empty, the bed bare. There was no sign that his brother had even been here, ever. Dean was gone.

Dr. Matthews saw him coming from the nurses station and made her own way to room 216, hoping to cut Sam off before he got the door, her legs just not long enough to cut the distance as fast as Sam had. He saw her coming from the corner if his eye, anger flaring in each one as he turned to confront her.

"Where the hell is my brother?" He demanded, his tone a mixture of anger and fear.

"Sam, your brother is gone."

Sam's already wide eyes somehow grew even wider, his brain not quite sure how to process that response. Obviously his brother was gone, but gone where?

"What do you mean, he's gone? What did you do to him?"

"We didn't do anything to him Sam. Against my better judgment, we did exactly as you asked. We removed his IV, prepared his release papers and gave him all the necessary medications he'd need. He signed the papers, gathered everything up, and left."

Sam was moving well beyond anger now, as his level of fear rose right along with it.

"You just let him get up and leave? How the hell did he even walk out of here straight. I said I would be back for him, why is he gone already?"

"Once he signed those papers, he was a free man and there was nothing we could do to stop him. The nurses watched him leave about an hour ago, and frankly I'll be in total shock if we don't see him again in a few days, quite possibly down in the morgue because I honestly don't think he's going to improve on oral antibiotics alone. I guess him not wanting to wait for you to come back for him is your problem, isn't it?" Dr. Matthews shot back at Sam, her anger level rising right along with his. "Your brother left on his own two feet. I would suggest that instead of standing here arguing with me, you go take it up with Dean. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have patients to see. I assume you know your way out, or do I have to call security?"

Sam's mind raced, one phrase she spoke standing out in his head as it repeated itself over and over. 'Go take it up with Dean' echoed inside, his anger and fear bonding together to create a new level of emotion in him. Panic. It crept in as Sam wondered how the hell Dean had left, where he'd gone, and how the hell he'd get there once he figured out where it was he was going in the first place. _Ok Sam, think. The motel, he had to go to the motel. Was the motel close enough to walk? No, he had to take a cab. Yeah, that's it, he took a cab to the motel, and he's there right now sleeping._

"Sam, let's go. I think she meant it when she said she'd call security."

Sometime in the course of their heated discussion, Jay had finally caught up to Sam, her presence next to him going totally unnoticed as the concern for Dean's whereabouts took center stage in his mind. Shaking his head, he let her guide him to the stairs as she tried to keep the situation from getting any worse, not wanting security to come and take Sam away. She wanted him calm, not riled, not for what she knew was coming. She led him down the stairs and to the exit doors, looking at him dead in the eyes.

"Sam, I'm sure he's fine. Let's go check the motel, that's probably where he is. Come on, let's go."

The knots in Sam's stomach were in knots, the feeling of dread refusing to release it's hold on him. Jay had read his mind though, and if she thought what he thought, then maybe he was right and he'd find his brother there, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to what was going on around him. Sam hoped that to be true, because if it was, he was going to kick his brother's ass later for being an idiot and not waiting for him to come for him, and putting the scare of a lifetime into him to boot.

Sam watched the cars roll by out his window as Jay drove the short distance back to the motel, his stomach practically climbing up into his chest and his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach when he saw the parking lot come into view. What he saw, or didn't see confirmed all his fears. The Impala was gone, and Sam knew things just went from bad to worse.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The cool glass felt refreshing against Dean's warm brow, the heat radiating from his head fogging the window around it as he leaned against it, eyes closed, half in and half out of consciousness. He forced his mind to stay awake, letting it drift back to the hospital, the doctor telling him his brother was checking him out and he was leaving a bit of a shock, as they removed the various needles and tubes they'd stuck in numerous places. Sam was the one that always wanted to take the trips to the ER, but now he was dragging him out of a hospital bed when he was, for once, perfectly content to stay right there. The doctor, whatever her name was, tried like hell to talk him out of leaving, but if Sam wanted him out of there, Dean knew he better leave. Too bad too, from what he'd seen, she was worth staying for alone.

His head was pounding, his body was overheated and chilled at the same time, his throat was still on fire, and he could barely speak. He knew there were other aches and pains, but he didn't notice much beyond the obvious. The doctor told him he needed to take all those damn pills she'd given him, two of them four times a day until they were gone. Shit, she'd given him two bottles of them, and since they were the size of a small Volkswagens, he highly doubted he'd even be able to swallow one, let alone two, and definitely not four times a day. He'd have to put his pride to the side, and have Sam crush them, at least for now, and knew he'd never hear the end of it later, wondering if it was just better to be dead instead.

The doctor had given him some Vicodin for his pain along with the horse pills, which he had absolutely no intentions of taking, since he had no intentions of going to sleep any time soon, those drugs being a one way ticket to la la land. So here he sat, in his car, in Sam's position at shotgun, every bump and swerve sending a new pain through his already wracked body, wanting only to curl up and die, at least for the next few days.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" He managed to spit out, the whisper barely audible to the human ear, the human ear not what was picking it up though as it came through loud and clear.

"I think I know a way to end your nightmares. Then you'll finally get the rest you deserve," the answer came out, more ominous then comforting, as an emotional chill ran up Dean's spine.

"You ok Sam?"

"Yeah Dean, I'm fine. Just anxious to get this over with."

"What is it we're doing?"

"Not quite sure yet, but I'll figure it out when we get there," that tone again, making the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand. He knew it wasn't the fever causing that, or the sick feeling he currently had brewing in his stomach that hadn't been there five minutes ago.

"You sure you're ok Sam?"

"I said I was fine Dean, would you stop asking?"

That reaction officially sent the red flags up, the remaining drive being spent in silence, Dean's deep breathing was the only sound beside the rumble of the engine, until the abrupt stop and the cold still as the engine was silenced. 'Sam' climbed from the car, coming around to the passenger side to 'help' Dean out. Opening the door and holding out a hand as assistance, Dean took it in his, as they both pulled him upright into the cold air.

The sudden temperature change made it difficult for Dean to breathe, as he stood for a moment trying to catch the breaths that seemed to escape him. Raising his head to take in his surroundings, he suddenly realized where he was, as his own form of panic started settling in. Taking a good long look at the hand currently aiding him in standing up straight, he knew his suspicions were justified, and he knew he was screwed. He remembered everything in detail from the motel ordeal, down to feeling guilty about digging his nails into Sam's hand so deep he drew blood, the same hand that was now unblemished and latched on to his own.

"What are we doing here? Why did you bring me back to Roosevelt?"

"I told you Dean, I'm going to end your nightmares."

"You're not my brother, you're not Sam," he breathed out, unable to express anything else.

"You're right," he answered, the fist that connected with Dean's face coming so fast, he never saw it, his mind fading to black before his body even hit the ground.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: I know I said I'd do better at responding to reviews, but for some reason my head just won't leave my ass at times. I apologize to anyone that left one that feels ignored, and honest to god, I will try harder next time (I promise, I really really do!)

Chapter 16

Sam searched his pockets for his room key, ready to kick the door in by the time he finally wrapped his fingers around it. He jerked it from his pocket awkwardly, the uncontrollable shaking of his hands making it nearly impossible to slide it into the lock. Jay slid up next to him, grabbing his hand and steadying it, the key finally slipping into place. One quick turn and the door swung open wide, revealing the empty room on the other side.

The room was exactly the way they'd left it, with the exception of two minor details. Scanning the room, Sam saw that all of Dean's things were gone. His duffel with all his clothes, his boots, his knife. Everything. Gone. He also noticed the envelope left on the closed laptop, the name 'Sam' clearly written in Dean's script, the print bold and black and rather uninviting.

Grabbing it and frantically tearing it open, he examined the contents inside, his brow furrowing harder and deeper with each word he read. Shaking his head in an act of denial, he threw the still weighted, heavy envelope back down in disgust, the note and other contents still in hand. He dropped down hard against the chair next to him, his eyes reading the note over and over, his stomach quivering each time he started at the beginning again.

"Sam, what is it? What does it say?" Jay asked, her hand resting firmly on Sam's shoulder, her eyes trying to make out the letter in Sam's shaking hands as she looked over his shoulder from behind him.

"It's a bus ticket to San Jose, and there's two hundred dollars in the envelope. I don't believe this. What the hell is he thinking?" Sam's voice was starting to shake right along with his hands now, the clenching of his stomach becoming almost painful.

"What does the note say?"

Sam couldn't, wouldn't read it out loud. He wasn't going to acknowledge what he was seeing and he sure as hell wasn't going to do what it told him to either. He handed the note to her, letting her read it for herself.

_Sorry dude, San Jose was as close as I could get you to Palo Alto. It's an open ticket, you can leave as soon as you're packed. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me. It's better this way, I don't want to drag you down with me anymore. Don't follow me, and don't worry Sam, just be happy._

_Dean _

x

"Sam, I think he really means what he said. I think he wants you to go. Maybe he's right, maybe he just needs some space, you know, to deal."

"No, he's not right, and Dean doesn't 'deal' like that. Something is totally wrong here. That's his handwriting, but that's not him. He couldn't have gone very far, not in the condition he's in. One way or another, I'm going to find him."

"Do you even know where to start looking?"

Sam pulled his phone from his pocket, knowing exactly what was going to happen, but attempting it anyway, just so he could say he'd at least tried. He hit the speed dial, the call connecting and ringing. One ring, two rings, half way there. Two more, then he'd end up in voicemail.

"Sam?" The gruff voice answering on the other end startled him, not only because someone had actually answered, but who the voice itself belonged to.

"Dad?" Sam was stunned. "Is that you?" Sam's tone relaying the shock he felt like a bomb going off in his head. He didn't really know what to say. "Where are you, and where's Dean?"

"Your brother's here with me Sam. I'll take care of him now. Take the ticket he left you and go back to school son. You don't need to waste anymore time looking for me anymore."

"But Dad, I can't just leave, not after everything that's happened. Please Dad, let me talk to Dean."

"He's sleeping Sam, and I'm not waking him up. He could barely stand when I found him at the bus station. He needs to rest and heal, and I think you've done enough already. He doesn't want to talk to you anyway, not right now. Just go Sam, and when Dean's ready, he'll call you."

Sam opened his mouth to respond but said nothing, the questions he had burning a hole in his heart, the answers he needed to hear lost to him as he heard nothing but dead air from the other end. He hit the redial, immediately being dumped into voicemail. Closing his phone, he let it slide limply to the floor as he buried his face in his hands in disbelief.

"Sam, who was that? Was that your father? What did he say?" Jay asked him, her voice as soothing and as comforting as she could possibly make it, not wanting to reveal the satisfaction all this was giving her at finally being rid of Dean for good.

"Dean's with my dad. He said he doesn't want to talk to me. He told me to leave," Sam confusion was evident in his voice as he tried to sort through the scrambled thoughts in his head.

Jay wrapped her arms around him, pressing her chest firmly against his back as she gently kissed his cheek, her breath brushing against his neck. Sam enjoyed the slight comfort, his mind calming enough to help him think somewhat straight. Her hands drifted down to his shirt, as her fingers worked the buttons, opening one after another.

Grabbing her hands, Sam stood, turning to face her and their eyes met and locked.

"Jay, I'm sorry, but I need to find my brother. This is all wrong. Will you help me? Will you take me to the bus station?"

Hurt flashed ever so slightly in her eyes, the feeling of anger at Sam's rejection of her wanted physical contact increasing the hate she felt for Dean right now. They'd finally gotten rid of him, and yet, he was still getting in the way. She felt the anger rising, her mind telling her this isn't the way things were supposed to be working out. It didn't matter, she told herself, this was just a small roadblock in the grand scheme.

"I'll take you anywhere you want Sam. Anywhere." She grabbed her keys as Sam closed his shirt and picked up his phone, slipping it back into his pocket. He was going to get answers, one way or another.

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Sam entered the bus station with the ticket in hand, pushing his way up to the first available agent he saw There were only three, and since the bus station was pretty much a ghost town, he'd settled on the only female working at the moment, trying to think like Dean. Think like Dean, figure out Dean, that was part of his strategy. The girl was young and plain, and looked seriously bored with her job as she thumbed through a magazine, but she was female, and that was always priority number one to his brother.

"Excuse me, I'm hoping you can help me," Sam said, shoving the ticket in her face, not waiting for the obligatory 'Can I help you'. "Can you tell me who sold this ticket? I need to ask them a few questions."

"Why, you a cop?" She eyed him suspiciously as he stood there nervously fidgeting, the cracking of the gum in her mouth grating on Sam's nerves.

"Not exactly. Can you please just tell me where I can find the person that sold this ticket?"

"Look around, how many of us do you see?" She studied the ticket, eyes returning to Sam's harried face. "Well, guess that was easier then you thought it would be, because you found the person that sold that ticket on your first try. What can I do for you then?"

"Do you remember anything about the person you sold it to?"

She studied the ticket a little more carefully as a smile spread wide across her face. "Yeah, I remember who I sold this ticket to. He was cute, a real charmer. He said the ticket was for his brother, paid for it with cash, then asked me for my phone number. God, I sure hope he calls, I'd love to go a few rounds with that guy."

Rolling his eyes and huffing in disgust, Sam pulled out his wallet, sliding the relatively new photo he had hidden inside out and into her line of sight. "That him?"

"Oh yeah, that's him. Those sparking green eyes just made me melt," she gushed, her eyes not wanting to leave the picture of Dean he'd showed her, gum continuing to crack in her mouth.

"You're sure? How did he look? Did he look sick?"

"No sir, he looked mighty fine. You sure you're not a cop?"

"No, I'm not a cop. Last question, can you tell me when this ticket was purchased?"

"Duh, there's time stamp on it, right there. Ticket was bought at 1:19 this afternoon."

Sam's face went white at her answer. He knew that in Dean's current condition, the only person he'd look 'mighty fine' to right now was a mortician, and he also knew that at 1:19 this afternoon, Dean was still in the hospital, at least, according to Dr. Matthews he was.

"Thank you for your help, and I wouldn't count on him calling you any time soon, but if he does, I'd strongly suggest you hang up, because he's dangerous, and I don't mean in an exciting James Bond sort of way." Sam knew he was dangerous, he just needed to figure out who, or what, he was.

He left the bus station and climbed back into Jay's car, trying to process the new information he'd gained and meld it with what he already knew. Dean was in trouble, of that he was sure. Someone, or something was pretending to be him, and by the looks of things, trying to get rid of Sam. The bus ticket, the cash, the phone call from their 'dad'. Sam was beginning to have his doubts about that too. If someone was playing Dean, then someone could be playing Dad too, and it was probably the same someone that was 'playing' him right now.

"Jay, let's go back to the motel, I need to check a few things out."

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Dean's eyes started fluttering open as a voice filtered through he room, it's familiar tone immediately commanding his mind to stand at attention. The deep, gruff tone drove into him, each word he heard bringing him closer to full consciousness. Eyes finally fully open, he scanned the room, looking for the face that went with the voice, his eyes barely focused on anything further then the hand in front of his own face.

The burning throughout his entire body amplified each and every ache he felt in each and every muscle and joint, but the excruciating pain emanating from his shoulders and wrists was almost unbearable. His head hanging limply arched back, eyes focused forward, he saw the hook driven into the center of the ceiling, the chain attached to that hook connecting to the wrist restraints strapped tightly around his own wrists, firmly secured by a small padlock on each hand.

With what little strength he had, he lifted his head up straight, resting it against his tortured arm, as he tried to see what was around him. The filthy walls and floor finally coming slightly into focus, he let out a groan that was really nothing more then a feeble squeak. He hoped that this was just another nightmare, but somehow knew better. No, he knew, as he hung half naked, clad only in jeans and socks, from a chain attached to the ceiling that he was in the place of his nightmares, and this time it was no nightmare. This time, it was real.

"Dean, you're awake," the voice spoke to him from a distance, well out of Dean's line of sight, which was only about two feet in front of him at the moment anyway.

"Why don't you show yourself, you coward," he muttered, barely able to force more then a whisper, his throat dry, raw, and on fire.

Stepping forward from the dark corner of the room, he stood face to face with Dean, their eyes burning holes into each other with nothing but hatred shining through. Dean couldn't stand looking at the thing that wore his brother's face, it made it so much harder to hate it, even knowing what it was.

"Dean Winchester, in the flesh and right before me. I've been looking forward to this for a while now. I'm going to have so much fun with you, although I can't say you're going to have too much fun with me."

"Why don't you unchain me and make it a fair fight?"

"Why don't you shut up and take what you deserve, you filthy killer?" The anger spread across his face, Sam's face, the more Dean spoke.

"Hey, I'm not filthy, and could you be a little more specific? I've killed a lot of things, care to narrow it down a little for me?" Speaking was becoming nearly impossible, but no way was Dean backing down now.

"Does St. Louis bring back any memories?"

"Yeah, none of them good ones. That thing I merked pretending to be me a friend of yours?"

"That 'thing' you're so fondly referring to was my child, and you mercilessly ended his life with no second thoughts. You didn't care, you just pulled the trigger."

"He was killing innocent people, he had to be stopped. He was a he, wasn't he, cause I gotta tell you, he was a pretty convincing chick there for a while." Dean smirked, surprising even himself he had that in him.

Ignoring the snark, he just pressed on, "I could have stopped him, and I was going to stop him, until you killed him. Now, I'm going to kill you, but believe me, it won't be as quick and painless as his death was. Oh no, I'm going to enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed being a part of all your nightmares. We did have fun in that screwed up head of yours, didn't we?"

Dean cringed at the thought of the nightmares, each more vivid and terrifying then the one before. "You were in my dreams?"

"We are creatures of many talents Dean. It didn't take much to get into your head and manipulate you. I just preyed on your greatest weakness, your brother. The rest was easy. It's a shame you don't remember that night at the bar, as I beat you senseless. God, that felt good."

"Sam will come looking for me, and when he does you are so dead."

"Sam isn't coming for you Dean. He thinks you're long gone. He's probably on his way back to California as we speak," he altered his voice dramatically before finishing his words, Dean's eyes going wide as he heard it," since we left him a one-way ticket back to school, son. And he's got that cute little blonde number to keep him company, what would he want you for?"

"You son-of-a-bitch, I'm going to kill you myself," Using Sam's face was bad enough, did he have to use his father's voice too.

Sam's voice making it's return, he continued, "Sure you are Dean, just as soon as you free yourself from those chains, and have enough energy to make a fist and swing it. You're so weak, you couldn't fight your way out of a wet paper bag, even if I ripped it open at both ends. You know what, I think I've had enough small talk for one day. That throat of yours must be really hurting by now, what with none of those meds that nice doctor gave you. In fact, sounds to me like you can barely get your words out. I wonder what it'll take to make you scream. I think I'm going to have fun finding out."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Sam needed to think. He had so many different things going on in his head that were all jockeying for position he felt like he was about to fall off the horse and get trampled and crushed underfoot. He had more questions then answers and wasn't really sure where to start looking for more. He thought through what he did know, which was only one thing for sure, the fact that there was no way in hell his brother had gotten that bus ticket standing out like a wolf in a house of hens. Someone, or something, had bought it, but it was definitely not Dean. That one simple answer brought down a cascade of other questions Sam knew he had precious little time to answer, if he wasn't too late already.

The question foremost in his mind had to be where his brother was. His car was gone and all of his belongings had been removed, and Sam was pretty sure not by him, leaving no clues to his whereabouts. That brought up the next question, who was he with? Next to his car, Dean's phone was his most important possession and his only lifeline to their missing father, and he kept it close to him, telling Sam that whoever was impersonating John had to be close to him, even with him, and that was dangerous. Sam knew that wasn't his dad he talked to, it couldn't be. His father would never keep them apart, and Dean would never refuse to speak to him, no matter what he'd said or done, unless he couldn't speak to him, and that stream of thought was making him sick. Sick with worry and guilt that he'd let all of this happen in the first place.

The stilling of the engine finally drew Sam out of his own mind as his eyes wandered to the motel room door. He knew what was on the other side, or more so what wasn't on the other side, and it just made everything worse. He needed to go in, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Sam, let's go inside. I'm sure you'll figure this all out," Jay told him, the backs of her fingers gently stroking his face in an effort to draw his attention away from the situation and on to her.

Sam took her hand in his and gently kissed it before climbing from the vehicle and hesitantly making his way to the door, with Jay right behind. They entered the room together, Jay stopping to close the door behind them as Sam crossed through to the little table that sported his laptop, the envelope of cash still laying there mocking him. One glance at the empty, disheveled bed in front of the door that still had the bloody towel on it told Sam another thing he knew for sure. Dean was sick, very sick, and was in no condition to be driving very far, if anywhere at all.

Dean may be sick, but he wasn't stupid, and he would never put his precious car in harms way if he could help it, even if the imposter tried convincing him to drive further then the nearest motel. He may follow John's orders without question, but even Dean had his limits and his common sense would prevail. Their dad may be a determined man, but he'd never intentionally endanger either one of them if he could help it, and he prayed Dean knew too. That thought gave Sam his first idea of the day and finally gave him a place to start.

He grabbed the yellow pages from the nightstand, flipping pages chunk by chunk until he hit the M section, then thumbed page by page until he found the motels. There were twenty-four in the area of which sixteen were in Rockford. Of those sixteen, six were a definite no, being way out of their league. That left ten, minus the one they currently resided in making nine. Nine motels, any one of which could be housing his brother, and whatever else, at this very moment.

Booting up his laptop, he waited patiently for the Internet to connect, feeling Jay's soft hands against his shoulders, the gentle massaging while he waited loosening his tight muscles and relaxing his taut nerves. She massaged down his arm, kneading each knotted one until it was nice and loose in her hands, then moved onto the next. Arms loose and limber, she went to work on his neck, the tense feeling flowing out of him as his head fell forward, eyes closing, the moan of sheer relief and pleasure filling her ears as it brought a smile to her face. She had had such a strong hold over Sam in the beginning, her mere presence distracting his mind from everything else around him. She was starting to worry when it began to wane slightly, finding it easy to get into Sam's head at first and preying on his feelings for Jessica almost to simple. She found those feelings being overshadowed as his concern for Dean rose, the worry almost blotting out everything else, making it harder and harder for her to get in, Jessica being her door to Sam's mind almost shut tight. She was almost there this time as Sam responded to her touch, the quivering of his flesh through her fingers flowing through her, until that god damn computer had to open it's big mouth. The look of anger that flashed across her face would have scared anyone, probably even Sam, if he'd seen it. Lucky for him he didn't.

'You've got mail' chirped in Sam's ears, his attention totally drawn away from her and focused on the screen in front of him now. He started clicking from one site to another, finally settling on one, pinning each location of each and every motel he needed to check out. Finally mapping all nine, he book marked it and shut the lid. Standing and stretching, his body finally finding some sense of relaxation, he turned to Jay. Taking her hands in his, he'd made a decision that was not going to make her happy, but he knew it was what he needed to do, and now was the time to tell her.

"Jay, I can never thank you enough for everything you've done for Dean, and for me, but right now I need to find him. He's in trouble, I know it, and it may be dangerous. I need to check some things out, and I may need to do a few things that aren't exactly legal. That's why I need to do it alone. I don't want to get you involved in anything dangerous that you may regret."

It took everything she had in her to hide her anger, her hatred for Dean rising to yet a new level she didn't think possible as Sam stood in front of her rejecting her yet again. She mentally cursed herself for not taking Dean out sooner, honoring the promise she'd make to the other that he would have his revenge now kicking her in the ass with a steel toed boot. He may be one of her kind, but she wished now she'd never agreed to this scheme.

"Sam, I don't care if you rob a bank and shoot everyone in the head, please, let me help you, let me come with you. You shouldn't have to do this alone," she practically begged him, eyes filling with crocodile tears as she whined.

"I'm sorry Jay, but he's my brother, and all of this is my fault. I need to do this on my own." Sam's words were soft and sweet, but definitely final, and she knew no amount of arguing would change his mind.

She smiled at him, her face drifting towards his as she kissed him on the cheek, her mind already plotting what to do next. "It's ok Sam, I understand. You'll call me when you find him, won't you?"

"You know I will, and thank you again, for everything."

"You don't need to thank me Sam, I told you I'd do anything for you, anything."

She flashed that sickly sweet smile one more time before walking out the door, her phone clutched in her hand before it even latched closed. "When I said anything Sam, I meant it," she told herself, foot tapping hard against the ground as she dialed and waited for an answer, speaking in a tone the other had never heard before when he finally did answer.

"I hope you're done with your little plaything because Sam isn't buying any of it and he's decided to start searching for his precious brother. You better get rid of him, and you had better make it look like an accident, or a suicide, I don't really care which. If overwhelming grief is what it takes to bring him to me permanently, then that's just what it's going to have to be."

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Dean hung like a fish on a hook, and no amount of wiggling was going to get him off the line. He was hot and cold, the sweat beading down his chest and back sending shivers up his spine with every draft of air that passed, only to heat his body back up when the air went stagnant. He was trying so hard to keep focus on what was going on around him and it was exhausting him, the little bit of energy reserves he may have had now totally gone. The only thing he was living on now was sheer adrenaline, as his tormentor continued his tirade.

"You know something Dean, our kind can learn a lot about a person by simply becoming them, even if it's just for a few hours. I do have to say though, becoming you thoroughly disgusted me, feeling your thoughts, your fears, even your pain. Does your precious brother even have the slightest clue about you? I think not, but oh, what I did learn about you by being Sammy for the last few days, well, that's priceless. He practically worships the ground you walk on, did you know that? Such misplaced devotion. One good look into your head would show him differently, but, that doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"Is there a point to this? Could we get to it soon, because I really do have better things to do, like hang out in cell block H in a pretty pink dress and high heels."

"Oh, you're such a comedian, aren't you. What is it you're trying to hide Dean? I probably already know anyway, you really are somewhat of an open book once your brain is open wide. Alright, I'll get to the point, since you really want me to so badly."

He slithered back into the darkness, the only sounds Dean could hear were his footsteps leaving, then nothing but silence, until the footsteps returned. He made sure he stayed out of Dean's line of sight, the dead weight against his taxed shoulders and wrists making it nearly impossible for him to move in any direction to watch what the bastard was doing, to prepare himself for what he was sure was coming. He worked his way around the limply hanging body in front of him to face his back, Dean's eyes going incredibly wide when he heard the initial cracking sound.

"I've been around a long time Dean, longer then you can possibly imagine. Sometimes, a person needs to do some things that may be somewhat reprehensible, or morally questionable, strictly for self preservation purposes, of course. This would not be one of those occasions, as I am going to enjoy every minute of your suffering as I share my own with you."

The second crack of the Cat o' nine tails wasn't just into open air, each end connecting with the soft flesh it sought out between his shoulders, each wound it left sending a trail of blood mixed with sweat down Dean's back. The shock and the pain forced all the air out of his lungs as his mouth opened wide, the scream escaping it only a silent one. Finally able to take in a choked breath, then another, he was totally unprepared for the next crack of the brutal weapon, this time feeling it strike against his lower back, opening more tears in his already bloodied torso as his body arced back and his muscles went rigid, his voice climbing to a pained grunt through fiercely clenched teeth. Without any moments reprieve, he again heard the crack, felt it against his body, but felt little or no pain this time as the defense mechanisms in his brain started to kick in, effectively beginning to shut everything off.

As if the bastard sensed what was about to happen, he paused in his assault, turning Dean on the hook to look him in the eyes. "What will it take for you to beg for mercy Dean?"

Barely able to spit anything out but not willing to give in, he actually found the strength to answer, knowing he was going to regret it when he did. "More then you can dish out, you sick son-of-a-bitch."

"I think we've already established that you think me to be the offspring of a female dog Dean, and as for what I can dish out, you really should be careful what you say, because I can dish out quite a bit."

One more crack of the flogging device against his shoulders for good measure finally elicited the response he'd been waiting for as the shrill scream that tore from Dean's throat filled every corner of the room, it only lasting a few seconds until it was totally silenced by the loss of any remaining voice control, but feeling like hours to the monster that caused it, the euphoria it gave him exhilarating. He dropped the whip to the ground, lifting Dean's limp head up to look into his eyes that were miraculously still open, even though he doubted he could see anything through the glaze that had settled over them. He wasn't quite ready for this to end, he still had one more surprise in store for his prisoner before the night was through, and he fully planned on springing it.

He danced over to the corner, his pleasure flowing from every part of him, and picked up the bucket he'd placed there for safe keeping. The sloshing and clanking sounds it made as he strolled back went unheard, but it's contents became apparent as he cocked it back and let them fly, the icy cold water inside pounding every inch of Dean's face and chest. The shock of the freezing water against his burning body brought him fully around instantly, every muscle he had screaming for one reason or another, mostly just wanting relief.

"Was that as good for you as it was for me?" He asked with raised eyebrows as the sarcasm oozed in his voice. He strolled across the room into the darkness Dean couldn't see through, only to return with yet another gruesome tool of torture, fully intent on using it and knowing what the desired effect would be. "You know something Dean, it amazes me that something that can be so terrifying to some can be such a joy to others, or maybe it's a joy to some because it's such a terror to others. Which ever it is, I think I'll leave you to your thoughts now, but let me leave a few of my friends with you, just to keep you company."

He dropped the cage he'd been holding gently to the floor, slowly opening the squeaky little door, and reached inside. Holding up one of his 'friends' into Dean's field of vision, the blood drained from his face as his stomach lurched into his throat, the need to vomit overwhelming him at the sight. Dangling in front of him from it's tail was a rather large, rather hungry looking, disgustingly retched brown rat, squirming in an attempt to be released. Reaching in again, he pulled out it's twin, also looking like it hadn't had a meal in a week or two. They wriggled in the air in unison, their noses searching for the source of the fresh blood that they knew was somewhere in the room. He placed them down on the floor and watched them scurry around Dean's feet, dragging a chair up behind Dean's back and unlatching the chain from the hook and let it fall. Having no more support for his sick and battered body, Dean fell limply to the ground, his eyes fixed hard on both rats as they started their trek up his legs, the relief to his arms and shoulders totally lost on him. He started to heave, his stomach being empty the only thing keeping them dry, as two more emerged from the cage, both black and both smelling what they hoped to be a meal for them in the air as well. They found him easily, one making it's way up onto his head as another started to chew at the broken skin on his back.

"Sleep tight Dean, and don't let the bed bugs bite," he laughed hysterically as he walked back into the darkness, the sound of a phone ringing and the door slamming and locking totally going unheard by him as he rolled on the floor, the overpowering need to get away from the dirty little creatures finally giving him enough energy to calm his body and somehow sit up to throw two of them off him as they thudded to the floor.

They were persistent though, the one on his head digging it's claws in and going for the ride as he rose from the filthy tile under him, it's sharp little teeth tearing into his scalp before he could grab hold of it. The chain binding his wrists had a good two feet of slack now that it wasn't cut in half by the hook, giving him more then enough to wrap both hands around the vile beast and launch it full force into the wall directly in front of him, the crunch it made and the red spatter it left as it slid down to the floor a pretty good indication it wasn't coming back for seconds. Adrenaline coursing full force through his veins now, he forced himself up on his knees, then to his feet, the remaining three still frantically searching for food. Feeling the sharp sting of teeth digging into his foot, he drew back and let his leg fly, the little bastard currently chewing on him meeting the same result as the first, his foot making contact and sending it flying across the room as he lost his balance and fell back down to the ground. _Two down, two to go, _he thought to himself as he lay on the cold floor and tried to steady his breathing and calm himself down. The remaining rats were nowhere to be seen anymore, but were still somewhere in the room, half of which was in total darkness. He stood and listened, the scuttling noises coming from the dark area his tormentor had taken off to. He rose to his feet again and slowly walked in that direction, the god awful sounds they made getting closer with each step.

The room was big, and the more he walked in one direction, the closer he got to the door, a sliver of light shining through the tiny slit in the center, just at his eye level. He peered through, trying to focus his eyes on what was going on outside. He could see Him standing there, just beyond, listening intently to whoever was talking to him on the other end. He watched as he said nothing, just closed the phone and stood there for a moment as a look of anger spread across his face. He'd know that look anywhere, it being the exact same look that Sam gave him when he was pissed off at him. He continued to watch as the creature started pacing the hall, rubbing his chin and scratching his head. God, he'd seen that look a million times before also. Dean could feel anger rising in the pit of his stomach, the thought of this thing pretending to be his brother and trying to kill him keeping him on his feet. Feeling another rat around his toes, he drew up his leg and crushed it under his foot, the breaking of the bones inside it not even registering in his head. He watched, and waited, knowing it was just matter of time for Him to return, and when he did, Dean would be ready. He wasn't taking this shit anymore.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Dean stood in the darkness watching Him from the window slit in the door as he paced the hallway just beyond the locked barrier separating the two of them. He'd been briskly crossing back and forth in front of said door repeatedly since ending his phone conversation minutes before, his pace quickening with each step he took and with every thought that spread across his exasperated face. Sam's face. The bastard even had Sam's facial expressions down perfectly, giving Dean somewhat of an advantage. Reading His face, he could see anger and frustration spread wide across it, but he also saw something else, something that looked like fear. Whatever he'd been told caused his mood to do a 180, going from elated to frustrated in a matter of minutes.

The longer Dean stood in the shadows at the door and watched, the more of the adrenaline rush his rodent execution gave him was lost, as he felt his body starting to shut down again. He needed to stay on his feet, but is was getting so hard as the fever burning through him, the torture to his body, and the horrible pain in his damaged throat brought him a hairs-width to his breaking point. He had to focus on something, something that would keep him alert and ready when the time came for him to make his escape.

His mind focused on something He'd said before he'd begun his brutal torture fest against Dean's soft flesh with the whip, the one thing Dean had tucked away in the back of his mind for future use, assuming he had a future. He said Sam was probably long gone, with that 'cute little blonde number'. Dean wasn't the sharpest knife in the block, but he wasn't the dimmest bulb in the row either, and when he put two and two together he always came up with four. He had a partner, and Dean was willing to bet the partner and the 'cute little blonde number' were one in the same. That lone thought was the only thing keeping Dean on his feet, knowing that if he was right, Sam was in just much danger as he was right now, if not more. Fingers unconsciously feeling the pair of stitches closing up the slit she'd made in his neck with Sam's knife, he couldn't figure out what her motives may have been for saving his life, because let's face it, if she hadn't done what she had done to him when she did it, he would be dead for sure, and only god knows what would be happening to Sam. So, as his energy oozed out of him with the blood mixed with sweat rolling down his back, he focused on his Sam, and the need to save him from Mickey and Mallory, the Natural Born Killers.

His brain was throbbing hard against his skull as his heart pounded in his chest, the heat radiating from it and his entire body not enough to keep him warm anymore as chills started taking up residence in him. He forced his body to still the shaking, not allowing any inch of him to let the shivers that were knocking on the door through and overtake him. If he let them in, it would be all over. Feeling his eyes start to drift shut, he forced them open, retraining them on the thing outside who'd finally stopped pacing and was now just standing there, fingers rubbing his chin, deep in thought.

Dean recognized that facial expression, like all the others, immediately. It was the look Sam got when he was trying to formulate a plan. Dean could only imagine what kind of plan it could be, but he was pretty sure it involved one, if not both, of the Winchester brothers ceasing to breathe. So, as he stood there with fever burning bright in his eyes, he filled his mind with Sam, his Sam, and the need to get to him now stronger then ever.

Dean watched as He approached the door, fumbling in his pockets as he searched for the keys he'd tucked into one of them. Dean rolled away from the window and flattened his brutalized back against the wall, the cool stone actually feeling refreshing against the torn and battered skin, as he clumsily tried to hide himself in the darkness as best he could. He heard the key slide into the lock, heard the tumblers click, and watched as the door slowly drifted open. The dim light from the hall filtered into the room somewhat, Dean's fear of it exposing him creeping forefront into his mind. He stood there trying not to move or make a sound, knowing the thing wearing his brother's face had super-human hearing.

He entered the room like he had a purpose, closing and locking the door behind him. So deep into his own thought, he never once saw or heard Dean behind him, never saw or heard the chink of the chain around Dean's wrists as he wrapped it around his throat, never knew what hit him as Dean pressed his heated, sweat covered body against his, shoving him hard into the door as he grasped the chain in the palm of each hand and wrenched each end with all the strength he had left in him. _God, he even smells like Sam, _he thought, and Dean thanked god all he could see was the back of His head as he pressed his face against His back, because if he'd had to look him in the eyes, he knew he wouldn't be able to do what he had to do next, once he had the upper hand.

Dean ignored the scratching and clawing at his arms as nails dug deep into his skin, in the hopes that He could get Dean to give in, but it only fueled Dean's rage more as he pulled the chain tighter around his throat. Hearing him unsuccessfully gasp for air and feeling the body pressed hard against him start to go lax, he reached one hand across His face, pressing it firmly against his forehead and the other at the base his head, and with one swift move twisted sharply, the sickening crunch sound the move made causing Dean's stomach to lurch in preparation of spilling it's contents, even though there weren't any in it to spill. Dean's own body started going limp as the body in his hands started to fall, both men tipping backwards until they were flat on the filthy floor, the air in Dean's lungs being forced out of him as he was crushed by the dead weight of the now incapacitated thing that would be Sam as he was unable to break his fall.

Dean had no energy left in him to move, his attempts at breathing becoming more and more difficult with the dead weight sprawled on top of him, leaving no room for his lungs to expand in his chest. He was seriously thinking he would suffocate because he didn't have the strength or freedom of movement to push the monster off him. Trying a different tactic, he unwrapped the chain from around its neck and tried sliding his back out from under the body, the blood and sweat mixture making his skin slick and slippery against the grimy floor. Hopefully, it would be enough, and as Dean started to wiggle, his body started to slide out from under the hulking form on top of him until he was free enough to take in a full lungful of blessed air, which he immediately regretted.

His previously battered ribs were now most definitely broken by the dead weight that landed full force against his torso. Instead of deep breaths, he opted for short quick ones, the need for oxygen outweighing the agony he was currently in with each one he took. Somehow finding the resolve to move again and with his upper body now free, he forced himself up and used his hips to pull himself out the rest of the way, kicking the mass of flesh away from him as his legs finally slipped out from underneath. His mind still turning, he knew he had precious little time to get his ass out of there, not really knowing for sure if breaking it's neck was enough. Somehow he doubted it, everything he'd learned telling him silver was the only way to kill it.

Dragging himself to his feet, Dean searched through every pocket of its jacket and jeans, scoring big with not only the keys to the door of his prison, but his keys to the Impala and his cell phone, all of which the bastard had tucked away. _That son-of-a-bitch drove my f'n car,_ Dean thought as he stuffed the keys to his beloved vehicle into his own jeans pocket, disgust slamming him hard as he kicked the body one more time for good measure. It finally dawned on him he wasn't wearing any shoes, and figuring his gracious host wouldn't need his at the moment, removed the footwear and put them on himself. Sam's feet were bigger, but shoes were shoes, and beggars couldn't be choosers at the moment. _Shit, may as well take the jacket too, no sense running around half naked and bloody, _he decided, his eminent escape giving him the energy to strip the body of it's outerwear as well. Dean slipped his arms into the garment, not really needing it's protection from the elements, but needing it to keep the chills at bay. Satisfied he was ready to leave, he unlocked the door and cautiously ventured out into the hallway, a chill running up his spine as the last remaining rat scurried past him and out into the space beyond, direction unknown. Peering down the corridor as best as his blurry eyes could, he felt it was relatively safe to close and lock the door behind him, unconsciously leaving the keys in the lock as he started down the hallway, having absolutely no idea which direction to go.

The adrenaline rush of his escape finally winding down, his tired mind couldn't determine which direction was out as total exhaustion started settling in. He made it a few steps down the hall when he heard footsteps approach, the hairs on the back of his neck rising like they were electrified, hunter's instinct telling him it was either fight or flight, and he didn't have a whole lot of fight left in him right now, making his only option to hide, and fast. Ducking through an open door into a pitch dark room just down the hall, he cowered behind the door and listened as the footsteps got closer and closer, finally stopping outside his suite of horrors, the key being turned and door being swung open with some attitude. Braving a look out the cracked open doorway, he saw the back of the blonde head step through across the threshold, the voice coming from the room vaguely familiar. The more she spoke, the more he realized where he'd heard it before as what was possibly the worst moment in his entire life flashed before his eyes and replayed itself in his ears. He knew enough, he'd heard enough, and taking full advantage of their argument, he snuck out of the room he was currently holed up in and quietly crept down the hall and out of sight.

"You idiot! Where is he?" She screamed, dragging him up by the collar of his shirt to his knees, his eyes still somewhat unfocused as he tried to figure out exactly how to explain what just happened.

"I thought he would have been dead by the time I came back in, with the condition he was in those rats should have eaten him alive in no time, but he jumped me and broke my damn neck," he told her as he twisted his head from side to side, each movement making a disgusting popping and cracking sound as he did it, in an effort to correct the damage Dean had inflicted on him, even if it was only temporary.

"How long has he been gone?" She seethed through her teeth. Dean's escape would absolutely ruin everything. They had to find him, and they had to find him fast.

"I don't know, not long. He couldn't have gotten far," he told her. No, he couldn't have gotten very far indeed. "Come on, if we split up, we'll find him faster."

In one quick, fluid motion, she reached behind her back, swung her arm forward, and training the weapon directly at his head between his eyes, pulled the trigger of her small handgun not once, not twice, but pulled and pulled until it clicked empty, each and every bullet that ejected from the barrel a silver one. He dropped to the floor in a bloody heap, there being nothing left of his face but hamburger riddled with bone fragments here and there, the occasional clump of hair hanging loose in the pulpy mess.

"Don't you worry, I'll find him myself." she told his now quite dead form.

She knew she couldn't leave him here, the risk of police finding it minimal, but a possibility nonetheless. The last thing she needed was the body to be found and identified as Sam Winchester, making him technically dead as well Dean. Taking it by the arm, she dragged it from the room she'd mercilessly destroyed it in all the way outside, leaving a trail of blood and tissue behind. Dousing it with salt and gasoline, she lit it ablaze mere feet from the god awful black beast Dean drove, thankful the car was still sitting there, safely hidden behind the monstrous building and not long gone by now. She watched the body burn until she was sure any evidence of it's identity had been erased, then turned to go back inside to finish the job that should have been taken care of a long time ago. She knew Dean had to still be inside, and by god, she was going to find him, come hell or high water.

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It took all Sam had in him to wait for darkness to totally fall and most of the shops lining the streets to close. Leaving the motel room far behind, he walked down the row of businesses, inspecting one after another until he came to the one he was looking for. He'd seen it in the yellow pages, it's location only a few blocks from the motel, well within walking distance. Quickly making his way down the sidewalk, he stepped into the little shop, carefully inspecting it for any type of security system. Confident it had none, other then a video camera wired to a VCR and an easily pickable deadbolt on the back door, he took note of the store hours on the sign in the window and left after making a much needed purchase with the cash that had been left to him as the 'piss off' prize. Closing time was six, but the place would hopefully be empty by seven. He took his purchase back to the motel, and went to work, grateful that Dean never returned their equipment to make bullets back to it's proper place in the trunk. His usually meticulous brother had gotten uncharacteristically lazy at the most opportune time for a change, leaving the tools in the motel. Of course, Dean had had other issues to deal with at the time, hadn't he?

He ventured out again at nearly seven, walking casually up the street so as not to draw any attention to himself. Ducking down the first alley he came to as he passed the little shop for the second time in one day, he took it to the end of the buildings and came up behind them, finding the back door to the place with ease. Just as he thought, picking the lock would be a piece of cake as was usually the case with these old buildings, and he gained entry to the pawn shop in a matter of minutes. He'd already scoped out exactly what he wanted and, quickly breaking the glass of the case, took the newer 9mm from the display it rested in. Stuffing it into his pocket, he felt a slight tinge of guilt at for having to resort to robbery, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Dropping a fifty on the counter, he turned and left, relocking the door behind him. He'd been in and out of the place in less then five minutes, finally able to protect himself should he come across what he was pretty confident he was looking for.

He had put a lot of thought into what he was now hunting, positive it was a shape shifter. Nothing else could impersonate Dean and his dad, and maybe even him at will like that. The thought crossed his mind finally when he remembered Dean asking why he'd kicked him after he said he had seen him in the bathroom mirror when there was no way in hell he could have been anywhere near Dean at the time. That was clue number one. Clue number two was obviously the bus ticket that his brother has supposedly purchased when he was still laying in a hospital bed half way across town. Clue number three was the phone call from 'Dad'. No way that was him, no way in hell, of that Sam had no doubt. All the pieces fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, the only piece left to put into place was why this was all happening. That would only be answered when he found Dean, or It, or both.

Half of his mission complete, he continued taking the alley until he'd passed the next two blocks of buildings, finally ending at a rather hoppin' bar, the sounds of loud music and laughter filtering to the ends of the parking lot through the cool, crisp night air. He weaved his way through the outskirts of the parking lot, looking for the most inconspicuous car he could find, planning on just 'borrowing' it for a little while. No way in hell was he walking to each and every one of those motels, and not knowing what he'd find when he got to them, there was probably no way his brother was walking out either. Settling on a maroon colored, mid nineties Chevy Cavalier that the dumb ass driver had so generously left unlocked, he scanned the entire area before slipping behind the wheel. Dropping the seat as far back as it would go to make room for his ridiculously long legs, he quickly got the engine going and hauled ass out of the parking lot without anyone ever noticing a thing.

He pulled into the parking lot of the first motel on the list and drove around the entire building's front and back twice, looking for any sign of Dean's car. That being a total bust, he parked behind the building in the darkest part of the lot he could find and trotted to the office, the overly cheery girl behind the counter greeting him with an overly toothy smile. She looked Sam up and down as he approached the counter, and if it was possible for her smile to get any wider, he actually thought it did. She looked like her face would split in half any second as she opened her mouth the speak.

"Good evening, need a room for the night," she asked, thinking it the obvious question to come from her mouth.

"No, thanks. I'm actually looking for someone. I was wondering if you could tell me if this guy has rented a room here today," Sam slid the photo of his brother he'd had in his wallet in her direction as he asked his question with a tone of desperation gently slipped in for good measure, hoping to prey on her sympathies. She picked up the picture and examined it carefully for a long moment, handing it back to Sam as she shook her head and pouted her lip.

"Sorry, never seen him before. He some kind of criminal or something?" She asked him, her face lighting up at the possibility of a real live fugitive being in her midst.

Sam wondered to himself why everyone he asked questioned whether Dean was some kind of crazy outlaw on the lam, but then rethought the fact that technically he was, at least in the eyes of the law, anyway. "No, he's my brother, and he's missing. He's sick and I need to find him soon."

"Sick, like how sick?" Her look of excitement quickly turning into one of dismay as she continued with her question. "Like contagious E-bola sick or dying of cancer sick? Should I be afraid of him if he shows up?"

"No, nothing like that. Would you please call me if he does try to check in, it's very important that I find him? And please don't tell him, he can be a bit of a pig head sometimes if he knows I'm looking for him. I just want to help him, that's all." Sam asked as he scrawled his cell number down on a piece of scratch paper and handed it to the girl, her eyes returning to their shiny sparkle when she realized this guy just gave her his number.

"Absolutely. Anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thanks," Sam turned and left, not waiting for her to say anything else, not wanting to waste anymore time then necessary. He still had eight potential places to check and very little time to check them.

Driving all over the god forsaken town from one end to the other, he pretty much got the same results with each and every place he stopped, putting him pretty much right back to square one. The sickening feeling he'd had in the pit of his stomach earlier had returned, not like it had ever really left, as he sat in the little Chevy POS and tried to figure out what to do next. He was, for the moment, at a total dead end and out of ideas, other then checking hospitals and the morgue, which is where he was headed next. The idea sickened him, but he knew he had to do it. Nausea creeping into his stomach at that thought of his brother laying on a cold slap with a tag around his toe bearing no name, he was startled by the vibrating of his phone in his pocket. He fumbled with it as he pulled it out, his hands nervously starting to shake now. When he saw the name illuminated on the caller ID, he flipped the thing open faster then humanly possible, almost screaming into the mouthpiece as he answered.

"Dean? Is that you?"


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Dean quietly made his way down to the corner of the dark corridor as quickly as his heavy legs would take him, all of his concentration being put into keeping one foot in front of the other and not trip over his own two feet. Reaching the junction to another hall after numerous haphazardly placed footsteps, he turned the corner and continued to walk, or stumble actually, and awkwardly at that. His shoulder brushed hard against the wall as his hand came up to steady himself and stop his impending face-first trip to the floor, and as he continued on, he realized that he was now using the wall to support himself as he listened to the heated voices drifting farther and farther away. The empty halls generated sound like an old theatre making the argument audible from probably anywhere on the level they were on, and Dean had no idea whichever floor that may be. His vision was starting to narrow the longer he stayed on his feet and it took everything he had left in him to keep his eyes focused and the confusion that was creeping into his head at bay. His mind was too tired and too overtaxed to even figure out where he was and which way was out that the thought of just sitting down to rest for a few minutes sounded really good at the moment. If he could just clear his head maybe he could think straight and maybe he could get the hell out of this mess.

'_No, I can't sit. If I do, I'll probably never get back up.' _He thought to himself as he continued his stagger down the new hallway into directions unknown. He knew he had to keep moving if he wanted to stay alive but it was so hard, each leg feeling like it was encased in cement that got harder and heavier with each new step he tried to take, until finally, he just couldn't take any more. He stopped to rest his head against the wall, feeling the cool surface against his skin, and closed his heavy eyes. '_I just need a second, only a second',_ ran through his head repeatedly while the burning in his eyes bored into him and added itself to the long list of ailments currently plaguing him, the moisture in them all but gone. They felt like sandpaper against the backs of their lids, and Dean wasn't really sure he could re-open them if he wanted to. _'Yeah, I'm pretty sure they're fused shut now,' _he said to himself, in his mind anyway.

Just when he was about to give into the seemingly autonomic brain commands to sleep, something harshly brought him back to his senses, and in a big way as his eyelids scraped against the eyes they were supposed to be protecting. Barely down the hall he'd turned into, the sound of gunfire broke out from where he'd been standing just a few minutes before, the noise echoing in his ears as he heard one shot after another after another being fired until he finally lost count after the fourth or fifth, he wasn't really sure. The constant barrage of noise in his head brought him enough to his senses to realize he'd only made it down the new hall a few feet and was not as hidden as he may have thought he was. As the instinct of self-preservation at the sound of the shots kicked in and told him he better get his ass moving and out of sight quick, he heard the woman say just one last thing as he ducked through the nearest open door for cover, not wanting to wait around to find out what, exactly, was happening.

The room was dark, too dark to see anything, as he closed the door, praying he hadn't just locked himself in as he heard the click of the latch indicate the door had securely shut itself behind him. His vision already well beyond being a blurry mess, he didn't even think his eyes could make any effort whatsoever to adjust to the lack of light in the room. If the throbbing in his head and the fire in his eyes was any indication, he was beginning to think he probably didn't want them to either. He stepped forward slowly and cautiously, not sure what he was walking into, but pretty sure it was some poor bastard's former living quarters in the nut house from hell. He thought he felt something brush against his foot on the floor, but the more he felt around, he couldn't find it anymore. He hoped it didn't crawl away on it's own, especially if he had no way of getting back out and away from whatever it may have been. God how he wished he could see, but he had no source of light to illuminate anything… or maybe he did. He fumbled through his jeans for the only thing that could save him from his hopeless situation, and pulling it from the pocket he'd forgotten he'd stuck it in shortly before, brought his phone to his lips and kissed it like it was the most beautiful thing in the world to him right now, because in fact, it was.

He flipped it open as the light from the display on the screen lit up the room a few feet in front of him and enough for him to make out what was around him. The room was relatively empty, save for a few pieces of junk he couldn't identify on the floor that had been thrown about here and there. He stepped deeper into the room, almost bumping into the back wall before seeing an overturned bed with the filthiest mattress he'd ever seen leaning against the farthest corner of the room.

The overwhelming need to sit before he fell hit him and he hoped the corner behind the only piece of furniture in the room would at least give him some cover in case that She-Bitch decided to come looking for him. Pushing it away from the wall barely enough to crawl behind it, he finally dropped blessedly to his knees and hid himself as best he could, the pain of his back pressing against the wall barely noticeable anymore as he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head against the cool stone. In fact, most of his pain was barely noticeable anymore.

He sat there and stared at the little screen on the phone, trying to remember what else he wanted to do with it once he finally found a good spot to rest in but it just wouldn't come to him. He was too tired to do anything but close his eyes and decided to do just that as he let his head roll to the side and rest itself in the corner against the opposing wall while his mind slowly drifted into much needed sleep.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been out when he finally managed to pry his dry eyes back open, not really sure what had started bringing him around in the first place but strangely aware of an odd tingling feeling in the fingers of his hand not clamped around his cell. Bringing the little phone up to his face and trying to focus on it, he started to remember where he was and what he was doing there and it hit him that now would be a good time to stop using it as a makeshift flashlight and start putting it to it's intended use instead. He flipped it open, the screen casting an eerie glow across his haggard face as he tried to make out the numbers on the keypad. Now he only needed to find the right one, it being the one that would send the call out to his brother, but considering he was still seeing double of everything, it would really be hit or miss.

He rolled his thumb over the numbers, trying to feel for the little bump to indicate he'd found the five, but even that was hard to do as his fingers shook uncontrollably over the pad. He pressed hard against the phone in an attempt to steady himself, once again searching for the number and finally finding it after the third or fourth try. Sliding his thumb up one number onto the two, he pressed the key and waited for the call to connect. He waited patiently for an answer, only to be met with voicemail, and not the one he was looking for as the gruff voice of his father filled his ears. As much as Dean really wanted to talk to the man, he somehow highly doubted he would be of much help right now and closed the phone without a word, abruptly ending the call. He opened it again and made another attempt, finding his mark and a little more carefully locating the correct number and called again, praying Sam would actually be there to answer it. This time, the call went out and was answered with a shout that hurt his head the instant it came through the earpiece.

"Dean, is that you?" Sam's voice bellowed from the tiny speaker almost loud enough to break the poor thing.

"Sam," his mouth moved, his lips forming the word as it had a million times before, but no sound escaped his lips.

"Dean, are you there? I can hear you breathing, talk to me!" Sam shouted yet again, the labored breathing he heard from the other end filling him with a deeper sense of dread then the one he already had.

Dean attempted to respond to his brother's command and again mouthed his name, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get his voice to make any sound as he realized just how badly his throat throbbed right along with the rest of him. It was hot and dry as he made an attempt to swallow, but there was nothing in his mouth to go down as it was just as dry as the rest of him. He could feel himself start to slip away again as the realization he couldn't speak to his brother hit him hard, most of the optimism he'd mustered at the sound of Sam's voice on the other end pretty much gone in a matter of seconds. He was going to die here as soon as She found him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was fading out again, eyes closing as his arm started to slide into his lap until he heard Sam screaming at him again. That brought him back to some attention as he tried to listen to what his brother was saying.

"Dean, please, give me some kind of sign you can hear me. I've been looking everywhere for you. Come on man, throw me a bone," he begged, and Dean could never stand to hear his little brother beg. Replacing the phone firmly against his ear, he did the only thing he could think to do and started tapping his finger against the mouthpiece. God, even his fingers hurt, and why were they wet and sticky? Not sure the noises were having the desired effect on the other end, he gripped a link of chain between his thumb and fingers and started tapping with that instead, it making a much clearer sound then his finger could have.

"Dude, are you tapping on the phone? If you are, just give me a one for yes," Sam told him, his heart pounding hard against his ribcage, wondering if he'd get any response at all. His stomach jumped when he heard the one, single tap in his ear indicating Dean had heard and responded.

"Ok, good. One for yes, two for no," Sam told him, hearing another single tap come out. He formulated about a hundred yes/no questions in his head and tried to figure out where to start with them.

"Do you know where you are?" One tap back.

"Are you alone?"

Dean wasn't sure exactly how to answer that question because yes, he was alone where he was but whether he was alone in the building was a whole different question altogether. He didn't know if that bitch was still hanging around looking for him in the hopes of finishing the job and if he told Sam yes, he could be walking him straight into a trap, but if he told him no he'd just start freaking out and probably do something stupid in his quest to find him. He hit the phone once, paused for a brief moment, then hit it again twice.

"Yes and no? You're alone but you're not? Is anyone with you there right now, is that why you can't talk, because they may hear you?"

Dean started getting frustrated as he tapped the phone twice, angry with himself that he just couldn't tell Sam where he was and what was going on, and that HE was probably in just as much danger as Dean was right now, and this was getting them nowhere.

If Sam wasn't confused before, he was slowly starting to become so, Dean's answers not making very much sense to him yet as he hoped he was actually coherently listening. "Dean, are you not talking because you physically can't?"

Squeezing his eyes shut hard and not wanting to answer, Dean tapped out one more for yes as Sam's stomach now started to somersault, the need to find him increasing with each passing minute.

"Listen to me Dean, I know someone is with you, and I think it's a shapeshifter. It called me pretending to be Dad and told me, well, never mind what it told me. I don't know what it wants, but I'm thinking it's up to no good. Is it still there with you?"

'_Chalk one up for college boy! Damn Sam, how do I tell you I already know what it wanted, and that the damn thing did it's best impersonation of you and I actually fell for it. If I'd just noticed sooner, I wouldn't be here right now, I'd be in a nice warm bed sleeping like a baby and…' _Dean had to force his mind back into his head as it started wandering, tapping on the phone twice and indicating that he was gone. Then, he tapped again just once, giving Sam another yes/no answer.

"He's gone but he's not. He's gone but coming back? Is that it?"

'_Close enough Sam',_ he thought, tapping once for yes. That should be enough to keep Sam from throwing caution to the wind.

"Dean, did he do anything to you, did he injure you in any way?" Tough question to have to answer, but there was no sense in lying now, Sam would find out anyway. One tap through the phone sent Sam's blood pressure through the roof as he felt anger mixing with his myriad of other emotions. He had to take a calming breath before he continued, not wanting Dean to sense his rage, not knowing what kind of condition his brother was in anymore. He'd been a disaster on legs the last time he'd seen him and he was probably a lot worse now.

"You have to answer me honestly Dean, are you alright?" No hesitation, two taps, definite no. Panic started rising in Sam's gut and he had to breathe deeply before asking his next questions, having no idea how to spit them out so his brother could answer them.

"Are you still in Rockford?"

'_Oh yeah, I'm still in Rockford', _he thought as he answered Sam's question. He tried swallowing again with no luck and just tapped the phone once to help Sam narrow his whereabouts down.

"Ok, still in Rockford, good. Would I know where you are if you told me?"

'_Most definitely, you couldn't forget,' _tap one for yes. He paused for a long second, then started tapping away on the mouthpiece and hoped Sam would catch on to what he was doing. He better, because there wasn't much left keeping him conscious at the moment, other then the need to relay to his brother where he was and hope Sam would take care of the rest.

Sam heard the series of taps, the pause in-between each one at a different interval. Sometimes short, sometimes long, he listened carefully. After the first few sets, it dawned on him what his brother was doing and he stopped him before he could go any further.

"Morse Code? Are you trying to tell me where you are with Morse Code? God Dean, Dad taught us that when I was, like, ten. Dude, I barely remember it, you gotta slow down and give me one letter at a time," Sam told Dean, trying to get his mind in gear and remember yet another lesson his father had tried drilling into him when he was a child. He trained his hearing on the phone and focused on the sounds as they came across one after another, letter by letter, until he'd figured out enough to be able to guess the rest.

"Dean, he took you to Roosevelt? Is that where you are?"

Dean tapped one final time on the phone telling Sam yes, his body finally giving up and drifting into the darkness that had been creeping in the entire time he had been trying to relay to his brother where he was. He just wished he could tell Sam more, but he just didn't know anything else other then he was hiding behind some disgusting bed in some filthy room like a scared animal with a predator hot on it's tail. He also wished he could have told Sam to be careful, because he was pretty sure if Sam ran into the thing that was after him, he'd never even suspect.

The phone fell loosely against Dean's chest and rolled down into his lap as his body shut down, his legs uncurling from his chest and spreading themselves out on the floor, the sounds of his brother's voice yelling his name going unheard to his ears. He was oblivious to everything as his breathing evened out and deepened, oblivious even to the furry little creature crawling it's way up his leg and making it's way to his face, no longer interested in just his fingers anymore.

"DEAN! DEAN ANSWER ME!" Sam screamed over and over, his fear becoming something more like terror as he lost contact with his brother. He knew he was still there, he could hear him moving, hear his breathing, but he wasn't answering. He dropped the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot he'd been sitting in, his destination not far from where he was, but not close enough either. Phone plastered to his ear and listening for anything that may indicate he was too late, he raced to the old asylum, hoping he would find his brother still alive when he got there.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Jay stormed back into the building and straight up the stairs, confident Dean could not have gotten very far in his current state. She didn't really know what He had done to Dean and really didn't care, the only thought on her mind right now being finding and killing him like the dog she thought him to be. He had told her Dean hadn't been gone long, and she knew he had been right because she could still smell his blood and sweat in the room, and it was still fresh. Yes, he was still in the crazy house, and probably still on the same floor, and that's where she was going to start her search.

Leaving the room she had so mercilessly exterminated her former partner in crime in, she turned left, making her way down the long hall and checking each and every room for any signs of her prey. Something hit her heightened sense of smell as she opened one of the numerous doors she'd come to and immediately knew Dean had been in there, the scent being very faint, but still there. She stepped into the small space and knew before she even looked from wall to wall that the room was empty but at least she figured she was going in the right direction.

Exiting and continuing down the hall, she finished checking the remaining few rooms in this hall but came up empty behind each and every door. She came to an adjoining hall and started down that one next, not sure which direction to go but not really worrying too much about it. If she just checked every room, eventually she would find him. She knew how sick he was, she could smell it in the bodily fluids he left behind; she could tell he was fading fast when the scent of adrenaline all but disappeared. In fact, the scent of Dean himself had all but disappeared, telling her he wasn't bleeding or sweating anymore, and hopefully not breathing anymore either.

Room after room down the new hall yielded zero, no Dean, no clues, no nothing. Some of the doors were locked, making it easy to rule those areas out, but most were open, forcing her to check each room now she'd lost his trail. She went through all the doors on her left first before the hall dead ended, now focusing her attention to the doors on the right instead. One by one again, she found nothing as frustration started getting the better of her.

Anger started rising in her, replacing the determination she'd had so much of earlier as she began to wonder what, exactly, she would do to him when she finally found him. She didn't want to shoot him, which would be messy and raise too many questions. She could use his own tactic and break Dean's neck, knowing he, unlike her former partner, would not recover from that sort of trauma, but that too wouldn't look like much of an accident. That really only left one choice, and the more she tossed it around in her head, the more she thought just how fitting it would be. She'd just asphyxiate him, and no one would ever know he didn't die naturally, and after all, he was half dead already, wasn't he? She should have just let him suffocate when his body wanted to all on it's own, it would have saved her a lot of trouble, and Sam would be grieving in her open arms right now, her comfort the only thing getting him through his grief. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk, right? She'd still have her Sam, she'd make sure of it.

She continued her way down the hall as she imagined Dean taking his last breath her hands wrapped around his throat as she choked him and watched what remaining life he had drain out of him. She would enjoy feeling the rise and fall of his chest stop as she felt his pulse fade to nothing, the smile across her face spreading wide as something caught her eye just off to her right. She saw the eerie glow through the tiny window in the door and knew she'd finally found something. Pressing her face against the glass, she could see the pair of legs that obviously attached to a body trying desperately to hide itself behind the grungy overturned bed propped up in the corner.

Reaching for the door handle, she jerked it hard in anticipation, only to have it not budge in her hand. It was locked up tight, and she tried to figure out how the hell he'd gotten in there. She let out an angered huff and turned herself around, needing to get the damn key still in the lock of the door down the hall and hoped it would work in this door too. Turning the corner to the main hall, she finally made it back to the door that held the key, but as she removed it from the lock, her hair stood on end when she heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, and sensed who it was making them. Taking a page from Dean's lesson book, she ducked into the room behind her, not wanting Dean's stench to assault her senses in the room in-front of her, and closed the door as she watched from the window as he came up the stairs.

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Sam had put the car in gear and drove as fast as the little four cylinder piece of crap he'd 'borrowed' would allow, hitting every light red along the way in his desperate quest to get to his brother. The stop and go was killing him and he was tempted to just start running the lights as he listened to the sounds of silence coming from the other end of his still connected phone call, occasionally catching the sound of a shuddered breath or some slight movement, but nothing else. At least silence meant whoever was doing all of this to his brother hadn't come back yet to finish the job.

Finally on an open stretch of road, he gunned the engine and shot non-stop down the night-darkened blacktop, his destination looming ominously in the distance but approaching fast the harder Sam pushed the vehicle. His stomach clenched up hard when his eyes could finally make out the outline of the building silhouetted in the moonlight, visions of Dean flat on his back against the filthy floor as he himself stood over him, bloodied chest from the rock salt he'd assaulted him with and a pistol trained at his head as pulled the trigger, and not just once, filled his mind with overwhelming guilt and regret. Now his brother was back in that hell hole, after only god knows what had been done to him, and Sam still didn't even know why. He took the turn onto the property hard and could have sworn the two tires on the driver's side actually lost contact with the pavement. Slowing down to a somewhat crawl, he darted his eyes from left to right, looking for some kind of sign or clue telling him where to start his search in the ridiculously large, abandoned building. There were too many places to look, and not enough time to search them all, and he just prayed for something, anything, to point him in the right direction.

Turning the corner along the side of the building, he was starting to think that maybe he'd never find Dean in there. He really could be anywhere, and as bad as he was, he'd probably be dead when he finally did find him. Reaching the back of the building, Sam shook the morbid thoughts from his head and tried to focus on the area around him as he listened for some positive sounds from his cell.

Finally seeing something familiar in front of him, his heart leapt into his throat and he had to swallow it back down before it choked him as he blinked hard a few times just to make sure it wasn't a mirage. Confident it wasn't, he thanked god for giving him not just a sign, but a giant neon light flashing 'I'm in here' over and over as he brought the little four-banger to a halt right next to the beautiful body of Dean's precious baby. There the Impala stood, in all it's glory, just waiting to be taken away from this horrible place with Dean in tow.

Climbing from the little car for what Sam knew would be the last time, he approached the Impala slowly and cautiously, gun drawn and held out in front of him as he walked in a 'ready for battle' stance. Peering through the window, he saw it was empty inside, the only thing Sam could make out was his brother's duffel laying in the back seat, obviously tossed there and forgotten about. Sam rounded the drivers side and opened the door, eyebrows raising at the fact that the car was sitting here unlocked, giving anyone that cared to look access to the items in the trunk. He climbed in and looked around, thankful he didn't find ay blood anywhere around the interior. He reached into the back and grabbed Dean's bag, not really caring about the invasion to his brother's privacy he was committing as he rummaged through it, not really sure why. He was looking for something, and eventually it would come to him what it was.

He found a lunch-sized white bag inside that Dean must have mindlessly stuffed into it hours before and opened it when he realized by the sound it made what was in it. He pulled out four bottles of pills, all still untouched. Reading the label on one bottle, he cringed when he saw the directions specifically saying to take every four hours, and not to miss any doses. At the rate they were going, Dean had already missed at least two. He also found the hand written note that Dr. Matthews had been nice enough to shove in the bag with the medication, it specifically telling Dean if he didn't take them all he ran the risk of infection returning with a vengeance, and it would probably be a seriously drug resistant strain by then, possibly not treatable. He threw the bottles back into the bag and threw the bag up on the dash as he continued digging through his brother's things until he wrapped his hand around the large, black flashlight he knew was somewhere at the bottom, pulling it out and turning it on to make sure it worked. _'Of course it works, it's Dean's flashlight for Christ sake,' _he thought to himself, fully figuring out why he was digging in the bag in the first place. When it lit up the interior of the car like a Christmas tree, he knew it was now or never, and leaving the comfort of the car, headed towards the door.

With the flashlight trained at the ground, Sam's eyes went wide as his stomach sunk when he caught the sight of the blood trail on the pavement, it's lingering glisten telling him it was relatively fresh. "Oh god, don't let that be Dean's blood," he said to himself as he followed it inside and up the stairs. He let it guide him like a trail of breadcrumbs, not even really sure it would lead him anywhere, but what the hell, he really had no other place to start anyway. He watched and followed as it snaked it's way down the hall, finally turning into the doorway and disappearing into one of the rooms on the floor. He stopped at the door and trained the beam of the light inside, not really being able to see much from his spot in the hall. He entered the room with his flashlight held out in front of him, gun and hand resting atop and ready to fire should the need arise, as he turned his body from left to right and scanned the room for anything that could pose a threat to him. Satisfied nothing was lurking in the darkness around him, he relaxed his stance only slightly and tried checking out the whole room.

Standing what he thought was dead center, he waved his light around in a wide arc, stopping dead on the smear of blood that had spattered on the wall and followed it's trail down to the floor, only to end up at the bloody carcass of a pulverized rat. Sam shivered at the sight, for some reason the dead thing was making his skin crawl. Continuing his examination, he found yet something else that made his skin crawl, in a much different way. Abandoned on the floor, he spotted the multi-ended whip that had been tossed aside, and Sam had a sinking feeling that it hadn't been used here during Dr. Ellicott's reign of terror. Scanning the floor directly around his feet, he saw the fresh blood droplets pooled here and there and knew this time for sure that it was his brother's blood he was looking at. His stomach tied itself in knots as the uncontrollable urge to get the hell out of this room washed over him, the sight of the whip, then the blood more then he could take as he pictured in his mind the ruthless torture Dean must have been subjected to while his body was already sick and abused almost to its limit.

Exiting the room in an almost sprint, he bent at the waist and rested his hands on his knees, hanging his head and breathing in deeply a few times as the need to throw up slowly passed and he was able to compose himself, oblivious to the set of eyes trained on him from the door across the hall. Finally ready to go on, he turned and continued down the corridor, pulling on one door after another and taking quick glances inside each one before moving on to the next. Few were locked, but when he came to one, all he could do was peek through the window into the darkness, really unable to see anything.

Turning at the end of the hall, he again started pulling on one door after another, again being met with nothing. Grabbing the handle of the next door, he pulled hard, only to realize it was locked and pressed his face against the window, expecting to see the usual dark staring back at him. Darkness isn't what he saw this time though and as he raised his phone back up against his ear, he rapped his knuckles against the glass, it's echo through his earpiece one of the sweetest sounds he'd ever hear.

Looking through the portal, he saw the faint light reflecting off the wall from what was obviously Dean's cell, but he could see nothing else. He grasped the handle and pulled harder, still unable to open the barrier keeping him from Dean. Tucking his flashlight under his arm and aiming it towards the door, he reached for his lock picks and went to work, the only thing slowing him down was the uncontrollable shaking of his hands.

Finally hearing the tumblers click, he ripped at the door so forcefully it slammed against the wall it was attached to as he burst into the room, grabbing hold of the last obstacle still in his way and throwing it to the side like it was a rag doll unwanted by some spoiled child anymore. He couldn't contain the gasp that escaped his lips as the air was sucked out of his lungs, leaving him momentarily unable to catch his breath when his eyes fell on his brother's too still body hunched in the corner, his phone laying limply in his lap.

Blood had been trickling from the top of his head down his deathly pale yet somehow flushed face, pooling in his eyebrow but going no further and drying to a crusty, dark, almost black color. His eyes were deeply sunken in and surrounded by deep, dark circles, closed tight and heavily bruised between the two across the bridge of his nose, that mark obviously caused by a fist to his face. His shoulder and head were pressed against the wall with his arm laying limply across his lap, his phone landing just a few inches from his now open and lax hand. His other hand lay lifelessly on the floor, the blood that had once been free-flowing from his fingers now reduced to an ooze that had pooled around it like some kind of sick halo as the appendage occasionally twitched like it was trying to shake something off it. The jacket he was wearing open wide, Sam saw streaks and spatters of blood covered his chest in different directions, the still healing holes the rock salt had made barely standing out against his flushed skin. The painful looking bruise that graced his ribs seemed to be twice its original size, if that was even possible, the color darker then it had been since the last time Sam had seen it earlier this morning. '_God, had that just been this morning?' _he thought, not really able to believe it himself at this point anymore. Sam's throat burned as the urge to vomit hit him again when he saw that Dean wasn't alone, not technically anyway.

Curled up in the crook of his brother's arm that was thrown over his stomach was the largest, dirtiest looking rat he'd ever seen in person sleeping like a baby in what it thought must be it's mother's warm, caring arms. As a shiver shot up his spine, Sam decided he was pretty sure if Dean knew that horrid thing was there he would probably have a coronary and die on the spot. Pulling the strength from somewhere to make himself move, the first thing he did was wedge a hand under the filthy rodent and give it a flip, sending it flying and harmlessly landing on the floor somewhere in the dark. Sam didn't care where it went, as long as it went away, far away. The heat he felt coming off Dean's body was startling, the fever burning through him obviously much higher then the 101 he'd been told it was earlier today before he'd insisted on taking his brother out of the safety of his hospital bed and the lack of any perspiration downright scary. He knew he had to get him out of here, and he had to do it **now**. He also knew that when he'd ordered his brother's departure from the hospital be prepared, someone must have been listening, and took full advantage of it. Someone that had to have been mimicking him.

Determining the easiest way to extract Dean from the building would be to simply try to wake him, he attempted that first, figuring it to be a fruitless idea but needing to try it anyway. He looked so out of it, Sam didn't think a marching band could wake him up right about now. Gently shaking his shoulder and calling his name, he was unprepared for the response he did get.

"I'm here Dean, wake up man, come on, we need to get you out of here," he pleaded with him, his stomach not sure it could clench up anymore without ripping itself in two.

Sam jumped when Dean's eyes shot open, the feral gaze that fell upon his face as his brother tried to cower further into the corner breaking his heart, the fists that went flying in his direction never once connecting with anything remotely close to Sam's body but swinging away nonetheless in a feeble attempt to protect himself against what he saw to be a threat. It tore at Sam soul to watch his brother's terrified reaction once they were finally face to face, the emotional wounds he'd inflicted on himself as well as Dean now fully open and bleeding unstaunched, his brother's only thought to get away from him instead of welcoming him. Sam grabbed both his arms in his hands and forced them down into his lap, looking him directly in the eyes as their noses almost touched, shouting his name as militarily as possible and hoped he'd get the reaction he expected, trying to make himself sound as much like their father as he possibly could.

"DEAN, STOP! LOOK AT ME! IT'S ME, IT'S SAM!"

He barked the command like a drill sergeant as Dean continued to fight him, the lack of strength he actually had making it easy for him to subdue his brother as he felt the fight drain from him completely when Dean started to realized that it may, indeed be Sam in front of him after all. Feeling the hands grasped tightly around his wrists, he brought them to his face and searched for the gouges he'd left in his hand, barely seeing them, but seeing them enough to know that they were there and that it really was Sam, his Sam.

Finally calmed, to Sam's amazement Dean made an effort to stand, his legs weak and wobbly but under him as he dragged himself to his feet with his little brother's help. Sam slid his arm around Dean's waist to steady him as he stood, the silent cry of pain going unheard as the pressure against his back tore through him, some of the wounds reopening and starting to bleed again, making him focus his thoughts on the door in front of him and what lay beyond it. Freedom lay beyond it, and he desperately wanted it, and he would do whatever it took to get it.

Sam could feel his determination as he started putting one foot in front of the other, his legs barely able to carry the weight as he started tipping forward. Sam put a hand against his chest, stopping the impending fall and took his brother's arm, wrapping it around his own neck as the chain draped across his chest, an unnecessary reminder of the days events soon to be removed, once they were out of here and safe. Fully supporting most of Dean's weight himself, he walked his brother out of the room and down the hall, stopping briefly at the stairs only long enough for Dean to catch his breath and continue down, the exit doors well within sight now. The trek down the one and only flight they would have to conquer a tedious one, they finally made it to the bottom after a few almost near disasters, but as the cold night air hit them as they burst through the doors, they knew, joyously, they were out, and for the moment at least, safe, now that they were finally together again.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**The night air was cold against Dean's skin as they stepped through the doors and into the night, yet it gave him no chill, the internal heat his body was generating keeping him plenty warm enough. Seeing the only girl he'd ever truly loved waiting patiently for him at the door to come home as they made their escape caused his knees to buckle underneath him. Sam felt the sudden drop of his brother's body starting and took Dean's full weight against him, holding him upright long enough for Dean to straighten himself back up, regain some control of his legs, and continue his way to the car. Sam opened the passenger side door and eased him down gently onto the seat as Dean put his best effort forth to swing his legs in one at a time until he was facing forward, the smell of the familiar leather interior sending waves of relief through him now that he was finally free from his hellish prison. Resting his head against the seat and closing his dry eyes, he breathed in fresh air for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, no longer stuck in the stagnant air of the old musty building. He just wanted to start the car and drive as far away from Rockford as he could, but Sam, being Sam, had other ideas.**

**Making sure Dean hadn't left any body parts hanging outside of the car, he slammed his brother's door shut a little harder then he needed to and raced around to the driver's side, climbing in and taking Dean's usual position behind the wheel, forgetting his brother couldn't speak and waiting to be chastised for closing the door to hard before realizing he had one major problem as his hand reached automatically for the ignition, only to come up empty handed.**

**"Dean, where are the keys?" He asked his brother, hoping and praying to god he had them on him. Dean, unfortunately, wasn't listening anymore, and hadn't been since his head had planted itself against the seat. The soothing scent of his beloved vehicle and the comforting presence of his brother, his real brother, had lulled him into a sense of security, which opened the door to the much needed sleep his body craved, his mind just wanting Sam to figure shit out on his own from here on out. At least he could get some decent rest now and hopefully his mind would start to function properly if he did, because right now he was having one hell of a time trying to remember what the hell he was doing sitting in his car with no shoes and no shirt with the heat cranked up and making it feel like summer in Mexico inside.**

**Sam watched as Dean drifted in and out and back in again as he shook him gently, asking him again if he had the keys. "Dean, please tell me you have the keys because I don't want you to kill me later if I have to hotwire the car. We need to get the hell out of here and get you to a hospital, like yesterday dude," Sam told him again with a little more urgency in his voice this time.**

**Dean heard Sam's latest attempt at communication loud and clear, his brain fully focused as his eyes opened wide and fixed on Sam's, silently telling him 'no' with just the look in his eyes. He had absolutely no intentions of going back to the hospital, and if Sam even tried, it would be over his cold, dead body, because that is what it was going to take to get him back in that building. He knew the second they saw the damage to his back and his face they'd probably call the police in because it wasn't everyday someone walked in with bloody whip lashes across their back. Dean grabbed Sam's arm, shaking his head 'no' emphatically. **

**"Dean, you're really sick, you need a doctor, and you need one now. Give me one good reason not to take you to an emergency room," Sam knew they were going to have this argument the second he saw Dean's face at the mere mention of the word hospital, his eyes wide and consumed entirely of full on panic. Dean had no idea how to tell Sam what he was thinking, his only form of communicating was to mouth the word and hope Sam would get it.**

**"Cops?**** You're worried about cops? Why?" Sam was completely confused. Other then the deep bruising between his eyes, he didn't see anything that would warrant police involvement. Cops ****just didn't give a crap about sick people, and if they hadn't been called the first time Dean had been admitted, why would they be called in now?**

**Dean knew Sam had no clue why he was so concerned and knew the only way to tell him would be to show him, so he just leaned his upper body forward as he slipped the jacket he'd taken off his shoulders, the action making his head swim as dizziness crept inside, exposing the raw, swollen, still bleeding skin on his back. It was dark in the car, but not dark enough to hide the carnage, and Sam couldn't contain the reaction he felt coming out of him.**

**"OH SHIT!" he cursed, his stomach churning harder and harder the longer he stared, rage starting to build inside him as the need to find the thing that had done this to his brother and rip it apart with his bare hands threatened to overtake him as he was unable to turn his gaze away from his brother's mess of a back. In the excitement of finding Dean and getting him out, he'd actually forgotten about what he'd found in that room at the end of the blood trail, only to have it thrown back in his face in full Technicolor, Dean's fall into Sam's lap the only thing stopping him from getting out of the car and hunting that monster down right here and now.**

**"Dean!" He screamed at him, his impending slide into oblivion only moments away, his eyes barely open as he searched his pockets for the key he'd stuck in one of them earlier as head landed on Sam's thigh. Always finding what you're looking in the last place you look, because let's face it, once you found it you stopped looking, Dean held it out to Sam as Sam tried sitting Dean back up. Upright once again, he watched as Sam made a grab for the car key, but he closed his fist around it tight, the pleading in his eyes making Sam promise something he knew he'd probably regret later. Holding up his hands in defeat, he acquiesced to his brother's stubborn insistence.**

**"Fine, no hospital," he mumbled, it being the last thing Dean heard before he dropped the key into Sam's outstretched palm and closed his eyes, his body finally and completely shutting itself off. "For now, " Sam finished, seeing his brother's unconscious form slump over against the door, knowing Dean needed more help then he could possibly provide, but at least he'd give it the old college try.**

**He started the engine, the roar as it turned over a more then welcomed sound as Sam shifted into drive and did just that, drove. He had a long night ahead of him and really couldn't waste another minute. He drove to the motel as fast as legally possible, stopping only long enough to gather what belongings of theirs were still in the room before shutting the door and leaving. He had no intentions of staying in that room one minute longer, figuring them to be sitting ducks for whoever was after Dean, and not really wanting to be reminded of what had already happened there so far. No, they'd be checking in somewhere else tonight, somewhere nobody would know where they were. Shoving his duffel, laptop, and everything else he'd mindlessly grabbed into the back seat, he tossed their sleeping bags into the trunk and left the cheap motel and all the rotten memories behind.**

**Before he could find another hole in the wall to stay at though, Sam was most definitely going to need supplies, because once they were locked up tight for the night, he wasn't leaving, not for anything. He stopped at the first place he found that was open, it being one of those twenty-four hour pharmacies that pretty much sat on every corner, always boasting about how they were the only perfect thing in an imperfect world. Well right now, they would be living up to their hype. He parked in one of the handicapped spots right next to the automatic doors, not intending to be inside long, and shut off the car, leaning over Dean's way too hot body to lock his door before climbing out and locking his own, leaving Dean to sleep as he hurried inside. Grabbing the last basket off the floor, he started filling it with item after item, one after another, until there was no more room inside for anything else and wishing he'd taken a cart instead. He did just that too, returning the basket to the floor at the door after emptying its contents into a cart to continue his power shopping. Satisfied he'd gotten everything he'd need, he hit the checkout, tossing items on ****the counter faster ****then**** the less then interested clerk could ****ring**** them up. After what seemed like ten years he was finally done, and Sam paid and left with his stuff without so much as a thank-you. He loaded up the trunk, climbed back into the car, and started her up again, peeling away with the slightest squeal of tires on the pavement.**

**He tried to remember all the motels he'd already been to in his mad search for Dean earlier in the evening, needing to find one that would keep them well hidden, but needing it to have at least some creature comforts, like a microwave and coffee pot, and hopefully a small fridge. Only one stood out, and unfortunately it was the one he'd obviously made the biggest impression on. He could only hope the ****googly****-eyed girl behind the counter was gone for the night, because he really didn't want to deal with her again. She asked way too many questions and was liable to give out way too many answers to questions that could be posed by the wrong people. Mindlessly driving to their new place of residence, he breathed a sigh of relief when he'd parked the car and hurried inside and was greeted by an older man in his sixties with a disinterested face as he stared at the television in the corner, some old black and white movie blaring from the speakers.**

**"Need a room?" The familiar question came out, it not being the first time he'd heard it tonight, but he was pretty sure it would be the last.**

**"Yes, please. If it wouldn't be asking too much, could I have one in the back, away from the ****street.**** My brother's sick and I'd like it to be as quiet as possible for him," Sam asked, hoping the guy would oblige.**

**"Your brother huh, sure thing kid, it's forty a night, cash or credit?" He tossed a key on the counter as Sam dug in his wallet for the latest in fake credit cards they were using, hating the fact that they had to live their lives like criminals all the time when all they ever did was help others. "Room's all the way around the back in the corner, farthest from the street as you can get." Sam watched as he ran the credit card through the machine and waited patiently for the receipt to finish printing. He scribbled something illegible on the ticket, grabbed the key and hurried out just as quickly as he'd entered, leaving the old man to just shake his head. "Yeah, brother, right," he laughed.**

**Back in the car, Sam slowly drove to the room, the darkness making it hard to find. Finally locating the door in the blackness, he was happy to see that all the streetlights around him were unlit and the lot was bathed in absolute nothing. He parked right in front of the door and killed the engine, leaning over Dean's still body once more to unlock his door. He tried gently shaking him awake, hoping to have a little help getting him inside, but was answered by nothing but deep breathing. Sam knew the next few hours weren't going to be pleasant, so he may as well just get on with it now.**

**"Dean, wake up man, we're here. There's a nurse waiting to take you into the emergency room, and if you don't wake up she's going to carry you inside like a sack of potatoes, so what do you say, wake your ass up and walk in like a man," it was a cruel thing to do, but he was pretty sure it would work.**

**It did too. The second he heard the words 'emergency room' his eyes were open and fixed on his brother's face and filled with anger as the words bore through his head like an obnoxiously blaring alarm clock that goes off in the morning just after you'd finally fallen asleep and never shutting off, even after you'd hit the snooze button with a fist. Sam had promised no hospital, and he'd lied, and Dean was mad, until he saw Sam's face and knew that his brother was sneakier then he'd ever given him credit for. Looking around, he could see nothing in the dark and knew they weren't anywhere near a hospital as Sam climbed from the car and opened Dean's door to help him out.**

**Sam didn't know where the hell to grab his brother, pretty sure anywhere he'd touch him was going to hurt him one way or another, so he decided tojust do it and as quickly as possible. He grabbed at his still shackled arm and lifted him up slowly as Dean mindlessly dragged his legs from the car and planted his feet flat on the ground. He tried his best to stand but just couldn't do it, his legs too weak to support anymore weight, even their own. Sam wrapped his arm around his brother's waist and lifted him up, almost dragging him to the door as his legs were pretty much useless, the amount of body heat he was emitting more ****then**** alarming to him. Holding his brother with one arm, he unlocked the door with the other and kicked it open, pulling Dean in with him as he searched the wall for a light switch. Finding it after a few awkward seconds and flipping it on to illuminate the room, he sat Dean down not on the bed but in one of the chairs in an effort to keep him somewhat awake. He'd need him awake, at least for a little while, or they'd be taking that trip that Dean already dreaded taking before they'd even gotten out of the car.**

**Confident Dean wasn't going to fall over in the chair he'd placed him, he ran back to the car and emptied the trunk, sliding the numerous plastic bags of supplies up his arms and carrying all of them inside in one trip. Slamming the door behind him, he dropped the bags down on the bed and slid his arms out of them, grabbing one after another and dumping out their contents until he found what he was looking for. He twisted open the bottle of purplish colored sports drink and dropped in the straw he'd just pulled from the bag, taking it to his brother and practically shoving the straw into his mouth himself.**

**Dean looked at him through overly glassy eyes, not really sure he could open his mouth let alone swallow, just the thought of the act causing him intense pain. He pushed the bottle away from his face with barely any effort, and Sam knew the fight had begun.**

**"Dean, you need to drink something. Your body is overheating and if you don't get liquid into it, you're going to die. You made me promise no hospital, but I swear if you don't do what I tell you, I'll call an ambulance in a heartbeat and drag your ass in whether you like it or not, so what's it going to be?"**

**Sam's tone of voice told Dean he meant business, and with the greatest of effort, he made an attempt to drink the nasty crap in front of him, the first mouthful he'd drawn barely going anywhere near his throat as he started choking on it, sending purple liquid spewing out all over his arms and chest. Hearing the frustrated sigh escaping Sam's lips, he tried again, the attempt a little slower, and he actually swallowed this time, the cool feeling as it went down bringing some relief to his burning, aching throat.**

**Sam took his brother's hand and wrapped it around the bottle, ordering him to hold on and keep drinking it until it was all gone as he went to work on the locks that fastened the wrist shackles closed. They were relatively simple and easily opened as he removed them one by one, the red, raw skin underneath looking awfully painful but going pretty much unnoticed by Dean as he focused all his thoughts on doing what Sam had asked of him and holding the bottle firm in his grip. He'd actually gotten about half the bottle into his stomach by the time Sam was done freeing his hands, and he even thought he was starting to feel better. Sam threw the chain across the room into the corner, not wanting to look at it another second as he examined the damage to his wrists.**

**Sam rose from his spot and said something to him he couldn't quite make out and watched as he ran out the door again, this time returning with a little white bag and the first aid kit from the trunk. He watched as Sam dumped out the contents of the bag onto the bed with the rest of the stuff that he'd strewn about, opening one of the pill bottles that had fallen out and dumping whatever was inside into the palm of his hand. He brought them to Dean, opened his hand and placed one into his own palm.**

**"Dean, you need to take that pill. If you can't swallow it then just chew it, but you need it, and the other three I have in my hand. Take them one at a time until you get them all down because if you can't you know where we are going," Sam's voice was calm and compassionate this time, the threat relayed at the end sounding almost like a good idea.**

**Almost, but not quite.**** Dean again did as he was told, forcing the horse pill into his mouth and chewing it until it was nothing but chalk, forcing it down with more of the grotesque overly sweet ****drink****. He repeated the process three more times, much to Sam's amazement, until he'd downed all four, and the remaining fluid in the bottle along with them. ****Sam could not believe that his brother was still conscious, let alone swallowing those god awful pills one after another.**** Dean was that determined to stay right where he ****was,**** and Sam knew it. Opening the kit, Sam knew it was time find out just how deep the shit Dean was in was as he turned the digital thermometer on and shoved that into his brother's mouth, not trusting Dean and making sure it was under his tongue himself. The dreaded beeping had come, and Sam's fears were confirmed as he saw the display. Dean's fever was well over the 104 that usually warranted a trip to an ER, but he owed it to him to at least do what he could, after all, he had promised.**

**Sam had now come to the part that he was dreading, and as he tried to gently remove the jacket his brother was wearing, sucked in a deep breath and held it, feeling the fabric stuck to the flesh on his back like it had been glued there. He had no other option, and just pulled it off him as fast as he could, tossing the bloody garment on the floor and looking at the mess on his back in the light of the room. Dean hadn't noticed a thing, his mind somehow shutting out everything Sam was doing now as he just let him do it. Sam took a moment to examine the ****criss****-crossed bloody welts all over Dean's upper and lower back, some of them oozing again now that he'd jerked the jacket free that had attached itself to them.**

**Knowing he had to clean the wounds, he'd decided to kill two birds with one stone, and stepping into the bathroom, started running cool water into the tub, returning to Dean's side and stripping him down to his boxers before he carried him to the bathroom on his own and lowered him down into the frigid water. That finally got some response from Dean, the shock of the water temperature jerking him back to some awareness as he tried in vain to climb out from the tub and away from the cold. Sam just pushed him back down, the effort it took surprisingly little as he made a meek effort to fight, ultimately losing the battle to Sam in the end.**

**"Dean, you ****gotta**** say in that water, for just a little while. I ****gotta**** get your fever down. I know it sucks, but it's the only way. If it's not down by morning I won't have a choice man, you'll have to go the hospital."**

**It made Sam feel like crap to have to resort to such tactics, but if it got Dean to cooperate, so be it. It was working so far, and Sam was almost done with the initial triage anyway, every task accomplished one step closer to letting Dean ****sleep****, which he suspected was what he needed more ****then**** air at the moment. He pulled a washcloth from the rack above the toilet and started wiping down his battered back, blood and grime coming off with each pass, leaving nothing behind but angry, red sores that would need bandaging. Sam wasn't quite sure how, exactly, to do that, there were so many of them that needed to be covered that he couldn't find a spot that he could stick tape to that wouldn't be covering yet another open wound. Once he'd finally got Dean's back clean, he decided to just leave it uncovered, instead of bandaging it opting to just spread out a towel on the bed and lay him on it. He examined Dean's bloody hand, the fingertips of his thumb and forefinger a mangled mass of tissue that even stitches wouldn't help, and figured the only thing to do for that was bandage it up and hope it healed without getting infected.**

**The water now ****luke****-warm, he pulled the plug and let it drain until the tub was empty, one last thing needing to be done before he could put Dean into the bed and finally let him rest. He opened the bottle of alcohol from their kit and just poured it over his brother's back and hand, the hiss of pain that came out the first reaction Dean had made since he'd been forced into the cold water. ****Sam cringed when he'd heard it as his stomach flip-flopped, knowing how much it must have burnt and stung, but it had to be done, and when he was finished, he'd wrapped his brother in a towel and pulled him out of the bathroom, guiding him to the bed and finally, blessedly laying him down, wet boxers and all. He wrapped the mangled fingers in gauze and tape, the blood flow from them reduced to a mere trickle now, then covered him in only a sheet, letting the heat that needed to escape through Dean's skin out into the air.**

**Sam knew he needed to get Dean's fever down more, and leaving the room one final time, found the ice machine, filled the little plastic bucket that had come with the room to the rim and raced back inside. He found the ****ziplock**** bags he'd bought, filling six with the ice he'd just brought back, and placed them all around his brother's body, two on either side of his neck, one in each armpit, and one behind each knee as the shivers finally started for the first time all night. Shivers or no shivers, Dean had finally fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep for the first time in days.**

**Sam dropped himself into a chair and just watched his brother shiver in his sleep, exhaustion finally hitting him hard as he relived the last few days in his mind, knowing he was mostly responsible for everything that had happened up until now. He was the one that had ordered his brother's release from the hospital, and Dr. Matthew's words echoed in his head over and over relentlessly. ****"I understand, but you're making a huge mistake****," she'd said, and she'd been right, more then she could have possibly known. Now, not only was Dean way beyond being just sick, he was bloodied and battered too, and all because of him, all because of his stupid ideas. He should have just stayed there in the hospital and waited to figure things out when Dean was better, not forcing them to release him into the hands of some monster that had almost killed him. That monster would ****pay,**** Sam guaranteed that to himself, and to Dean.**

**Shoving everything he'd spread out on the bed off the side, he set the alarm clock to go off in two hours, knowing he'd need to pump Dean full of more drugs if there was any hope of him improving. Resting his head on the pillow of his own bed, he closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep, his burden of guilt almost too much to bear anymore.**

**Two hours went by fast as the blare from the clock jerked him awake, and as he dragged himself to his feet, shook more pills out from the bottle and cracked open another one of the god awful sports drink he knew Dean hated but absolutely needed. He didn't want to wake him yet, but knew he had to, and as he started to bring him around, breathed a sigh of relief at his minor victory when he saw the beads of sweat that had broken outfirst across his forehead, then across his chest. Unfortunately along with the sweating came the chills, the mere shivers now escalated to full blown shaking and teeth chattering.**

**Dropping the pills and bottle down on the nightstand, Sam grabbed the thermometer and forced it between Dean's lips and teeth, feeling for the floor of his mouth and hoping he was under his tongue. It didn't take long, the reading being exactly what Sam had hoped for. Still way too high, at least it was under 104 finally. Tossing the thermometer to the side and picking up the pills again, he shook Dean awake, his previous tactics still working like a charm as he convinced him to down all four pills again and half the bottle of the disgusting liquidbefore letting him drop back down into sleep. He laid back down himself, setting the clock for another four hours and dropped back into his own much needed slumber.**

**'****Four hours sure went by fast'****, Sam thought, until he realized it wasn't the alarm clock waking him but the pounding on the door that had pulled him from his sleep. Searching his jacket pocket, he drew his gun, holding it up and ready as he approached the door, not really sure who could be knocking because nobody should have known they were here in the first place. The pounding continued forcefully, almost to the point the person on the other side was going to break the door down any second as Sam grabbed the handle to open it, his gun securely held in his hand and hidden behind the door, his face going whiter ****then**** white when the eyes of the intruder met his own as the door swung wide.**

**"Dad?"**


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Ok, so, I know I said I'd do better at responding to the reviews, but I just can't seem to get my sht together and once again find myself apologizing for not being more diligent at it. I really do appreciate each and every one of them, even though I don't seem to be able to express that very well. Also want to send and extra thanks go MiniMe for all she said. This update's for her, and your english is perfect!

Chapter 22

Sam stared at the face before him incredulously, not actually believing what he was seeing. He debated between pulling the man into the room and clinging to him like there was no tomorrow and waiting for him to say everything would be alright just like he had when he was a child for a very brief period in his life or bringing around his fully loaded weapon he had safely stashed behind the door that was ready to use and putting a silver bullet right between his eyes and ending him right here, right now because he truly wanted him more then anything to be their father, but he just couldn't be sure, and the only person that could probably tell beyond a shadow of a doubt lay across the room, beaten and sick and wracked by fever, leaving him totally dead to the world and oblivious to everything around him.

"Son, are you going to let me in?" The familiar, gruff voice asked as he placed one foot through the door, not really waiting for an invitation as he pushed his way inside and right passed Sam, his eyes falling directly on the sleeping body curled up into a ball across the room as he shivered uncontrollably, even though he was covered by a heavy blanket and comforter. Approaching the bed, he laid a hand across Dean's forehead, the heat still burning from it like the fires of hell as the sweat poured from him in rivers, saturating his sheets as he slept.

"What the hell is going on here Sam?" He demanded as he stared the younger man down, the look in his eyes actually strikingly familiar to him. Yes, he'd seen that look way too many times before, each and every time he'd let his father down in one way or another. It was also the look he had on his face the last time they had seen each other, right before Sam left and his father had told him if he left, he should stay gone.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked evasively, still not entirely sure the man was who he was claiming to be, but tucking his gun loosely into his pants nonetheless.

"You know exactly what I mean Sam. What's wrong with Dean?" He glared at Sam, wanting answers.

Sam glared right back, the familiar anger he always felt when an argument between his father and himself was brewing slamming right back into his head like their last few years apart had never happened and Sam was eighteen again. Unfortunately, their mediator was indefinitely unavailable and Sam wasn't about to start a fight with someone that may not be John. No sense in giving him any additional ammunition. He took in a few deep breaths before he answered, calming himself enough to think totally straight.

"He's sick, that's all. Not the first time, and probably not the last. Doc said as long as he takes all the meds they gave him, he'll be fine," Sam lied. He honestly didn't even know if the damn medication was working, but he wasn't telling him that. Sam opened his mouth to speak again, only to be shut up by the blaring of the alarm clock telling him his four hours were up yet again.

He turned and shut the wail off, reset it for another four hours, and rummaged through the items still strewn about on his bed in search of something, finally finding it and grabbed the pill bottle, shaking out four more as he sat on the edge of Dean's bed to repeat the now routine process of doling out pills and tricking him into taking them. He carefully slid an arm under Dean's sweat-soaked neck, raising him up to an almost sit as he shook him gently awake enough to at least acknowledge what Sam was doing. He'd need no more trickery now, Dean just submitting to what he knew needed to be done, downing all four chewed pills in one mouthful and drowning them with the now warm bottle of liquid that sat on the nightstand without ever opening his eyes. It seemed to Sam it was getting easier for Dean to swallow, and he forced him to finish drinking at least what was in the rest of the bottle before pouring a healthy does of liquid Tylenol into a cup and making him down that as well, mentally kicking himself in the ass for forgetting he had even bought it. Satisfied Dean had swallowed everything he'd wanted him to and pretty sure nothing was going to come back up, he finally let his brother pass out again as he laid him back down on the bed, almost prepared for the confrontation he was actually looking forward to. Almost.

He left his spot on the bed and searched for the thermometer he'd tossed on the nightstand, finding it quickly and using it even quicker. He felt the eyes silently following him from across the room with every move he made, the beep sounding as he read it and turned it immediately off, trying to hide any look on his face that may give anything away. Even with his profuse sweating, Dean's fever hadn't gone down, not one tenth of one degree, it still registering over 103. Giving him double the dosage on the bottle was having little or no effect, and Sam didn't think the antibiotics were even working, and it was starting to scare him.

He grabbed the ice bucket and made for the door, it containing nothing but water now, but stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes fell on the man he'd momentarily forgotten was in the room with them, his identity, to Sam, still very much in question. No way in hell was he leaving them alone together, not for one second., especially when he considered that the thing gunning for his brother may be the very person standing across the room staring at them like a lion ready to pounce, the phone conversation he'd had with his 'father' earlier replaying itself over and over in his mind adding to his doubt. Stepping into the bathroom, he dumped the water out into the sink and quickly returned to Dean's side, handing the bucket to 'dear old dad'.

"Can you go get some ice, Dad? Please?" Sam asked, his eyes telling him he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Why Sam? What do you need ice for?" He returned the question, already knowing but wanting to hear it from Sam himself.

Sam sighed deeply, knowing he would have to betray his brother and reveal the true gravity of the situation. "His fever is still too high. I need to ice him down again," he told his 'father' as he dug around on the bed for the baggies, all six of them now holding nothing but warm water as well that he dumped out one by one into the trash can. "Please Dad, we can argue later," he said through gritted teeth, the actual word 'Dad' almost impossible to spit out.

He took the bucket from Sam into his hands and stormed out the door, slamming it hard behind him as he went, Sam's mind reeling as he tried to figure out just how, exactly, he was going to be able to tell if the man was his father or not. He knew how shapeshifters operated. Given enough time, they could not only mimic a person physically but mentally as well. If it wasn't their father, then he had to start interrogating now, before it latched on to John's personality too tight, making it almost impossible to tell the difference. It hadn't been that long ago it was impersonating his brother in a failed attempt to separate the two of them, and Sam could only pray he'd be able to say without a doubt whether or not he was looking at John before he, or it, did something else to Dean, something worse then it already had.

Hearing the hard rap on the door, he immediately retook the defensive stance he'd had earlier but let relax just a little when John had walked out, patting the gun still tucked in the waistband of his jeans as it rested reassuringly against the small of his back, just to remind himself it was there and at the ready should he need it. He opened the door and let him back in, silently taking the ice from him and returning to his brother's side. He refilled the baggies with fresh ice and put them back in their places, pulling the blanket up to Dean's neck as the chills still tortured him while he slept. With his eyes trained on his father's face, he pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat between him and Dean, the back of the seat in front of him as he straddled and sat, leaning his chest against the backrest, its positioning fully preparing it for use as a weapon if necessary and started carefully thinking about what to ask and how to ask it.

"How did you find us? Nobody knew we were here, nobody," he asked first, needing to know, first of all, if he'd screwed up and not hidden them well enough.

"I'm a hunter Sam, how the hell do you think I found you?" He answered as evasively as Sam had earlier, hoping Sam would just accept it and move on as he dropped himself into a seat directly across from Sam.

"I don't know Dad, why don't you tell me," Sam replied, almost as if he could read his mind and not willing to let the question drop.

"I checked every cheap motel in town until someone recognized **you** Sam. The guy at the front desk thinks you're taking care of your sick boyfriend, by the way. Nice cover, oh, and the Impala's not exactly subtle or easy to hide, is it?" He shot back at Sam with a wink, the internal smile he had spreading wide when he saw the look of acceptance at the answer on Sam's face.

As irritating as it was, Sam had to admit that he was probably telling him the truth, because Sam himself had done the exact same thing earlier in the evening when he was looking for Dean, and Sam had learned from the best, hadn't he? Sam knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with this line of questioning and changed the direction almost immediately to something he hoped wouldn't leave him with still more questions then answers. He fixed his glare on his fathers eyes and continued, feeling the fight starting to scratch the surface.

"Where have you been Dad? We've been looking for you for six months now without so much as a bite. We've called and called and you just ignored us, even when Dean called you from Lawrence and begged you for help. Do you know how much that hurt? You didn't even call when Dean was declared legally dead to find out if it was true or not. He could have been rotting in some morgue, and would it have even mattered? Spill it Dad, where the hell have you been, and why are you suddenly here now?" Sam wasn't holding back. He knew his father wouldn't stand for the defiance coming from him now, he never did. He always expected and demanded respect from his boys, and Sam was spewing out anything but that right now. Sam sat in silence and waited for a reaction, hoping it would give him his answer.

"It's complicated Sam, and does it really matter where I've been? I'm here now, and you and your brother are in trouble," he answered that question without the slightest hint of anger in his voice, immediately raising every red flag Sam had in his mind. He caught the diversionary tactic, throw the attention back onto him and Dean, make them think he was there for them. He knew better though, and just a couple more properly asked questions and he'd know for sure, at least he hoped so.

"Yeah Dad, it really does matter where you've been. Do you have any idea what we've been through since we started looking for you, and do you even care? I need to know that you shut us out because you had to, not because you wanted to. I need to know why you took off and left Dean high and dry. Do you know what that did to him? How much that hurt him? And what do you mean, we're in trouble. How much more trouble then this could we possibly be in?" Sam tossed a glance in Dean's direction. He wasn't biting on the threat he'd just been presented with as he dug his own hooks in deep, hoping the guilt trip would have the desired effect he was sure it would. John Winchester always hid his pain and guilt behind a mask of anger and determination, so Sam laid it on as thick as he could and waited as his 'father' pondered exactly how to answer the last barrage of questions and comments aimed directly at hurting the man. He never got the opportunity to answer though as Sam's attention was sharply directed elsewhere instantaneously.

He felt the tug on the back of his shirt before he heard or saw anything else, his upper body twisting fully around to watch what was going on behind him as Dean struggled to rise onto his hands and knees, his stomach visibly clenching over and over, each contraction of muscles causing his shoulders to hunch and his chest the lurch as he fought the need to expel whatever it was that had crawled into his stomach and was now trying to work it's way out. Throwing up was just not an option right now, and it was the last thing Sam wanted to see. It meant that his condition was deteriorating, not improving, and it wouldn't be long before he had to do something about it, something Dean wasn't going to like very much.

Sam watched as his father rose from his seat and made a move towards the bed, cutting him off mid-stride and raising a hand to stop him before he could get close enough to lay a hand anywhere near Dean. He may look like John, sound like John and act like John, but Sam still had serious doubts it really was John, and he would do whatever it took to keep his hands off his brother. Sam almost felt sorry for him when he saw the hurt look on his face at his rejected attempt to help, until he thought about how 'unJohn' that reaction was as he just added it to the already mounting list of things that just weren't right.

"I got it," he barked at him, wanting to keep him as far away as possible. He wrapped an arm around his brother's back as gently as he could, mindful of the still swollen sores spread across it from side to side as he brought the trash can up and held it under his face, whispering into Dean's ear the only thing he could think of to help him get control of himself, it that was even possible.

"Breathe man, just breathe," he told him as quietly as he possibly could and as close to his ear as possible, trying to keep the conversation just between the two of them. "Dude, you can't puke. You puke, you're done. If you can't keep anything down, the only other option is through a needle from a bag, and we sure as hell can't to that here. I know I promised, but I never promised to just let you die either," he tried to sound as calming as possible, inside scared to death not only because shit was hitting the fan, but because every move he saw his father make made him want to reach for his gun and just start shooting.

Sam's words must have had a calming enough effect on him or the need to vomit just passed on its own, but either way he was grateful as he felt his brother go limp again, rolling to the side and falling back down onto the bed, taking Sam with him and landing directly in his lap, his head laying heavy on Sam's thigh as he looked at him in the eyes for the first time in hours, finally finding the ability to talk to his brother had somewhat returned.

"Thanks Sam," he whispered, it being barely audible but just loud enough for Sam to hear it before he just closed his eyes again and drifted off, obviously unaware that they weren't alone. Sam just let him lay against him, leaning forward and pulling the blankets up to his brother's chest as he reached behind his back and drew his weapon from it's spot in his pants, tucking it under the blanket well within easy reach. He repositioned himself against the headboard and prepared himself for a long, sleepless night.

He watched as his 'father' stormed into the bathroom, returning quickly with a wet washcloth and some cold water, Sam visibly tensing when he approached and draped the cold cloth over Dean's hot forehead, resting his own hand atop it momentarily as a genuine look of fear and concern had come over him. '_Damn it, this is getting harder by the minute', _he thought, actually believing what he saw on his face.

"Sam, I think you've got some explaining to do. Sick is one thing, but what the hell happened to his face and his ribs, and how in the name of god did his back get pulverized? You gonna tell me that's from the flu?" He asked Sam angrily as he stepped back and just watched the wheels trying to turn in Sam's head.

Sam raised a finger to his mouth, effectually shushing his father as he pointed to the now totally out cold man laying in his lap, indicating conversation was over, at least for tonight. He really wanted to just regroup his thoughts, and maybe things would look a little different after he had time to think. Or maybe they wouldn't, but at least it was worth a try.

"I think we all need some sleep. Take my bed, we'll finish this later." Leaning his head against the bed, Sam closed his eyes enough to feign sleep, his hand wrapped around the gun handle and his finger on the trigger, watching and waiting.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Sam jerked his eyes open wide with a start, irritated with himself and cursing that he had fallen asleep. Rubbing them briskly to shake the cobwebs out of them, he was surprised to see the bright morning sunlight glowing behind the heavy curtains, unable to break through the thick fabric, but filtering in and lighting up the room for him to see everything around him. The room was empty except for him. Him and Dean. He'd been sitting in the same position on the bed for only god knew how long now, causing his back and neck to stiffen and his legs to go partially numb. Dean hadn't moved, not once, the entire time he'd been asleep, his head still laying heavily on Sam's thigh, his back turned away from him, making it impossible for him to see his brother's face. He was beginning to think Dean's dangerously high fever had finally broken when he didn't feel the intense heat that had been pouring from him before Sam had dozed off, but knew the situation was far worse then he suspected when he laid a hand across Dean's dry forehead. There was no excessive heat, no slight heat, no heat, no warmth at all. Dean's skin was cold to Sam's touch, deathly cold, and as his fears started rising, his stomach started churning, and rolling his brother over, he just stared at his face in astonished disbelief.

Gone was the sweat that had been covering his forehead, neck, chest, and back for the better part of the night. Gone was the look of sickness and agony that had been etched across his fevered features. Gone were the grimaces of pain every time he moved or breathed. Gone was the color of life in his skin. His face, along with his body, had gone a deathly shade of gray, his features holding no emotion as they just appeared fully at peace. Looking at him long and hard, Sam knew that his brother was dead.

"DEAN!" He screamed at him, wrapping his arms around his chest and pulling him up to his own, holding him tight against him and trying to will life back into his bruised and battered body, his head hanging heavily back as if his neck had broken, and his arms lay limply at his sides. Sam just held him and started to cry.

He sat and held his brother's cold, dead body for a long, long time, rocking him like gently like he was a baby as his tears streamed down his cheeks, flowing uncontrollably and landing on Dean's chest where Sam had buried his own face, trying to take in Dean's smell one last time. He could barely breathe, and right now, he really didn't care either. His brother was dead, and now he just wanted to die himself.

"SAM, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Barked the voice from the unseen mouth across the room, it's accusatory tone drawing Sam from his inconsolable grief long enough to see his father standing at his side, his own tears starting to well in his eyes as he watched Sam rock the limp form in his arms.

"He's dead Dad, Dean's dead," he spit out through his now hushed sobs and hitched breaths, not believing the words were even coming from his lips.

"How could you let your brother die Sam? Why didn't you help him? After everything he's done for you, everything he's sacrificed for you, you just let him lay there while his fever ate at him and let him fade away. You should have just put a bullet in his head, it would have been more merciful then to let him suffer the way he did," John's words cut straight to Sam's heart and ate at his soul, deep down knowing every word was true.

"Dad, please, I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I didn't want any of this to happen. Oh god Dad, I'm so sorry," Sam let out an anguished cry, his sobbing intensifying with each word as he continued cradling his dead brother. His father was right, Sam had killed him sure as if he'd put a gun to his head and blew his brains out himself. He had indirectly let that creature take Dean from the hospital, torture him, and leave him for dead, and everything Sam had done had just not been enough. Why didn't he just take Dean to a hospital when he'd found him like he wanted to? He would probably be alive right now, but he didn't listen to his own instincts, and now Dean was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

John wrapped his own arms around his older son's chest under Sam's, pressing his own body against Dean's back and pulled with all his strength, ripping Dean from Sam's arms, leaving them empty and taking him into his own. "Get your hands off him Sam, you have no right to even touch him! Your brother is dead, and all you can say is 'You're sorry', that's it, you're sorry? You've never appreciated anything he's ever done for you, ever, and now he'd dead because of you, you ungrateful bastard!" John's words were harsh, and they hurt almost as much as seeing his brother laying dead in his father's arms. It was a the most horrifying vision Sam had ever seen, never once thinking his brother would ever die this way, and it being because of him that he had.

"Dad, if I could take it back, if I could…" he tried to tell is father, but John wasn't listening, his own grief and anger coming out in his words and shooting straight into Sam's heart.

"Shut up Sam. Just shut up. You never wanted to be a part of this family anyway. Turn your back and walk away like you did last time. You abandoned your brother when you left for school, you never even attempted to contact him, and you never wanted Dean back in your life anyway, the way you treated him when he showed up at your apartment and begged for your help, like he was shit on the bottom of your shoe that needed to be scraped off and flushed down the toilet with the rest of the waste. Well, you've finally got your wish, your free to go and live your normal life. It's all you've ever wanted anyway, isn't it?"

"No Dad, it's not all I've ever wanted. It was hard to leave, but I had to. Please, try to understand, I never wanted Dean out of my life, I just wanted …" Sam tried to get out what he was thinking but couldn't seem to spit out another word as his vision clouded, everything going black before him, a blaring noise off in the distance pulling him away from the nightmare he currently found himself in, only to bring him into another, the alarm clock at his side wailing incessantly and informing him his four hours were up once again as he heard the slamming of a door.

Sam hit the clock with his fist to silence it, and for the second time today cursed himself for falling asleep as he tried to work the kinks out of his neck and back, wiping away the moisture he felt on his face with the back of his hand, and noticing there was just too much of it, ran his face across his sleeve to dry his cheeks. Unlike the last time he'd woke, this time his legs were mercifully not numb, and he almost started crying again when he felt the weight of Dean's head still pressed against his thigh, but this time it's heat was burning through his jeans as the sweat from his brow dampened the fabric underneath. Sam leaned forward as far as his sore back would allow and laid his hand on his forehead, just to eliminate the deathly cold feeling he still felt against his hand from his nightmare. He grabbed Dean's shoulders and gently rolled him onto his back, pulling him up to rest his head on a pillow instead of his own bony thigh. Even in his sleep, Sam knew he was hurting him, but he couldn't get the vision of his brother's dead face from his head and was grateful when he saw the grimace of pain from the movement briefly flash at him before relaxing again.

Standing and stretching his aching muscles, he looked around the room and was surprised to see that they were alone. Sam saw a note on the table and wandered over to grab it, curious as to what it would say. The handwriting was blatantly obvious, the words short, sweet, and directly to the point.

'_Went for food, Be right back.'_

Sam huffed and tossed it in the trash, not giving a crap where he had went, he was just glad to be free from his presence for a little while. John or not, he was pretty sure he'd return. That gave Sam very little time to do what needed to be done.

Returning to the bed, he rummaged through the blankets in search of his gun he'd apparently lost his grip sometime during the night, finding it and mindlessly tucking it back into his pants for safe keeping. Picking up the damn thermometer that never seemed to give him good news, he turned it on and stuck in in his brother's still sleeping mouth and waited for it to tell him if it would be a good day or a bad day. _'Score one more small victory for Sam and Dean,' _he thought as he read the numbers, the temperature finally reading under 103. Just barely under, but still under. Tossing it back in it's usual spot on the nightstand, he continued his usual routine, counting out pills, opening a cold bottle of Gatorade, and waking Dean. This time though, he planned on keeping him awake. He had to, it could mean his life or death.

Grabbing every pillow in the room, save for the one his brother's head currently rested on, Sam piled them one atop another, mindful of his brother's knife he'd unconsciously tucked under them the night before when they'd gotten there, hoping Dean would at least rest easy having his form of a security blanket close by, finally lifting Dean's head and shoulders up and pulling out that pillow as well to add to the pile, the stack high enough to make Dean sit in a relatively upright position once he was against them. Shaking his brother awake as gently as possible, he let a small grin break out when Dean's eyes actually started to open. It took a few long moments, but he finally focused on Sam's face, eyes still glassy but appearing to be coherent. _'Winchesters up 2-0.'_ he thought this time.

"Hey, how do you feel?" Sam had to ask, hoping with all his heart Dean would verbally answer. Dean opened his mouth to speak, swallowed hard, but just opted to give Sam a thumbs up instead. Sam frowned when his brother just closed his eyes and sighed. _'Ok, 2-1. We're still winning though.'_

"Can you slide over here and sit up, or do you want me to help you?" Sam made a move to aid in his brother's repositioning, but Dean stopped him, wanting and needing to do it himself.

He dug his elbows into the mattress and forced his shoulders and back up off the bed, letting the pain filled groan hiding inside out without a second thought. He paused in that position to catch the breath that had been sucked out of his lungs at the movement before continuing, the pillows only a foot away, but to Dean right now, a foot felt like a mile. Sliding his hips and legs first, he lined his lower half up with the mound of pillows, then slid his back and shoulders over, falling hard against them and now pretty much exhausted. The slight look of satisfaction Sam saw through the pain on Dean's face though was priceless, and he added one to the Winchester tally, making it 3-1. _'Clearly in the lead now,'_ he mentally smiled.

Sam sat next to Dean and took his hand, opening it and dropping the medication he needed to take in his outstretched palm and closing his fingers around them so he wouldn't drop them, then took the other one to hand him the bottle, forgetting about the heavily bandaged fingers and just placing Dean's hand back down in his lap, holding the bottle up to his brother's face himself and waited for Dean. One by one, he dropped the pills on his tongue, and with the patience and effort of a saint, sucked in a healthy mouthful of beverage and swallowed the damn pills whole, downing half the bottle in the process. _'4-1, winning by a landslide now!'_

Sam closed Dean's now empty hand around the bottle and ordered him to finish what was in it as he sorted through the items still spread out across the other bed. Dean wasn't paying much attention to what Sam was doing since the act of movement across the bed and the downing of his meds had pretty much wiped him out for the day already, not to mention that every inch of his body hurt just looking at it. He mindlessly sipped at the bottle in his hand with his eyes closed until Sam sat back down next to him and pulled it from his fingers. He just looked at his little brother and tried to figure out what he still expected from him, because lord only knew, he had nothing else left to give.

"You need to eat Dean. I can't remember the last time you had any food," Sam tried telling his brother, but Dean would have no part of it. He remembered the last time he had food, it was the soup Sam shoved at him and made him eat before his trip to the hospital. No way did he feel like eating anything right now. He scrunched up his face at Sam's suggestion and shook his head back and forth like a petulant child being chastised for not eating his liver and brussel sprouts that he'd been given for his birthday meal. Nope, in Dean's mind, it just wasn't going to happen.

"Dean," Sam started, his tone a warning one, pausing after addressing him before continuing to basically tell him it wasn't really optional. "If you don't get some food in your stomach you will probably throw up the pills you just took which will pretty much defeat the purpose of you taking them in the first place. I think it's why you almost puked earlier, so, I'll say it one more time, you need to eat." Sam's decision was final, the spoonful of warm, creamy something waiting patiently at Dean's lips for them to open, which after a long glaring stare, finally did as he ate whatever it was Sam was feeding him, and forcing it down, unable to even taste what it was.

Spoon after spoon he did what Sam asked until he'd finished every bite Sam forced at him, hoping that his brother would now just let him go back to sleep. He'd been awake for all of an hour and was completely exhausted already, but he could tell Sam still wasn't done yet. Dropping the bowl and spoon on the nightstand with everything else, Sam gave Dean two Tylenol, actual pills this time since he'd swallowed the other ones with relative ease earlier. He grudgingly took the last thing Sam had better be forcing at him, not really sure his stomach could hold anymore but swallowing them anyway. Hey, if he barfed, it would be Sam's fault this time, right? Letting out a long, drawn out sigh, he let his head just fall into the pillow and closed his eyes. His peace lasted all of thirty seconds.

"Dean, we need to talk." Those were the last five words he really wanted to hear right now, but since he really couldn't speak, he figured 'what the hell'. His mind started playing what he was sure he was going to hear, the fever in his body making it do the strangest things. _'Here comes Sam's anguished confessions of guilt over everything that's happened, and I really don't think I can take it right now. He's gonna tell me how sorry he is, tell me this is all his fault, and he's gonna tell me he didn't mean any of it. Maybe I'll just pretend to be asleep. Well, it wouldn't take much pretending, would it?" _He thought as he listened to Sam begin, not paying much attention as he started to let his mind go back to its hiding place, until he heard what his brother was actually trying to tell him.

"I know you're tired man, but I need you to stay awake, just until Dad gets back," Sam started, shocking Dean into actual speech.

"Dad's here?" He choked out, his eyes suddenly open wide and intensely alert. Sam could visibly see his body tense up at the mere mention of the man, and Sam could tell this was not going over well with Dean. He knew how his brother felt about showing weakness in front of their father, and this was about as weak as Dean could get. He just shook his head and continued, thinking he knew what must be going through his big brother's mind, but not knowing that his thoughts were wrong.

"That's just it Dean, I'm not sure it really is Dad," he told him, it being unbeknownst to Sam that that was the true reason for Dean's now rigid posture. Dean thanked god that at least the two of them were on the same page. "I know it was a shapeshifter that did this to you, wasn't it? And I'm pretty sure it was using me to do it, right?"

Dean just looked at Sam and shook his head in answer to his question, most of his memories of what had happened while he was being held captive pretty fuzzy, the ones that were clear in his mind the ones he wished he could just forget. Hearing that thing speak in his father's voice was one of them. Seeing Dean answer his question with a yes sent a shiver through him, until the vision of himself whipping his brother like an animal and ripping open his flesh flashed in his head, driving out the guilt and pushing the anger right back in.

"I'm assuming it didn't just let you go, which means it must still be out there, and I'd bet it isn't very happy. I don't think it ever intended for you to leave Roosevelt in anything but a body bag, and eventually it is going to come and try to finish the job. Don't you think it's a little too much of a coincidence that Dad shows up out of the blue after months of a whole lot of nothing after I apparently beat you until you're almost dead? Somehow it knows an awful lot about you Dean, and it's using that knowledge against you. It used me to hurt you first, now I think it may be using Dad to finish the job. What I don't get is how it knows so much about us or why it's doing it. We need to know if it's really Dad or not, and of all the people in this world, I think you're the only one that will be able to tell for sure." By the time Sam had finished, he noticed Dean had closed his eyes and appeared to be sound asleep again. "Dean, did you hear what I said?"

He opened his eyes and met Sam's stare, the look alone telling him that Dean had heard every word his brother had said. Dean wanted to tell Sam everything he remembered, but he just didn't think he could. He sure as hell was going to try though.

"Shifter from St. Louis' father, wants revenge," he whispered to Sam, that memory standing out foremost in his mind. He knew there was more that he needed to tell, but that was the part that was stuck in the foggy areas of his head, and as hard as he tried, he just couldn't seem to clear much else out.

"That thing had a father? And it's after you for killing it? Is that what you're telling me?" Sam asked, some of the pieces finally starting to fall into place. Dean shook his again to let his brother know he was on the right track.

"Do you remember anything else? Anything at all that may help?" Sam questioned, wanting to know more.

"There's two Sam, he had a partner," Dean told him, now in barely a whisper. "One's dead, the other one…" he tried to finish, the key sliding into the lock in the door silencing the conversation instantly as both brothers stared at each other.

Sam retook his position next to Dean on the bed and rested his back against the headboard, tucking his gun safely under the blanket and well within easy reach. The door opened wide, revealing the thing that was either John or not, and Sam was pretty sure they would know in a very short time. He walked into the room and slammed the door shut, looking at both apparently sleeping men as he made for the bathroom, slamming that door behind him as well. Sam opened his eyes and shot Dean a look, Dean just shrugging his shoulders in response and mouthing 'can't tell'. They listened as they heard the flushing of the toilet, then the running of water, and watched as he quietly emerged back into the room, tossing a brown paper bag onto the table.

"Where'd you go Dad?" Sam feigned a yawn, stretching his arms out like he'd just woken from six months of hibernation.

"Breakfast. Brought you something back if you want it," he answered, pointing to the bag now resting on the table, little grease spots spreading out on the bottom. Sam had no intentions of even touching that bag, not sure what could be in the food inside. '_Probably poisoned it'_, he thought. "How's Dean?" he asked, approaching the bedside to take a good look for himself.

"He's better. Fever's down, and he was awake for a little while," Sam answered him tentatively, wondering if he should be telling him that or if he should be telling him that Dean had gotten sicker. Improvement may force his hand, and Sam didn't think they were quite ready for that yet.

Watching as John made a move to feel Dean's forehead for himself, it was all Dean needed to see to know that the thing standing before him was not his father. Sam saw the look in his brother's eyes as he felt his body go stiff, and it was the only warning he would need, the gun that had been hidden under the blankets now firmly grasped in Sam's hand and trained right at the shifter's face. Sam was fast, but the thing was faster, his own gun pointing directly at Dean's head as they faced off against each other.

"You're not our dad," he seethed, his face turning red as an almost uncontrollable rage filled him from head to toe. This was the thing that had almost killed Dean, and it was going to pay.

"What gave me away, son?" He questioned, eyes never once leaving Sam's, but watching Dean from the corner of his eye to make sure he stayed in check.

Dean was answering that question, and with an enormous effort, told them how he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, how he knew. Raising his hand, he pointed to his ring finger, Sam catching on immediately, but Dean saying it out loud nonetheless. "Dad would die before he took off his wedding ring. You're not our dad." That was it, it was all Dean needed to know.

"Pretty smart there Dean. You've sure been one hell of a pain in the ass. I won't be sorry to see you gone, that's for sure," he taunted the brothers, confirming his identity 100.

"You aren't touching another hair on his head, you bastard," Sam shouted, pulling his trigger, the stunned look that came across his face at the empty clicking he heard making the imposter laugh.

"You really are a heavy sleeper, aren't you Sammy?" He smirked, sliding his free hand into his pocket and throwing a handful of bullets in Sam's direction. "Did you think I'd leave you with a loaded weapon at your side? You were so wrapped up in that dream you never felt a thing, did you?" He just smiled as Sam pulled the trigger over and over, never once coming up with a bullet inside. "Now, if you'll just get out of my way and let me finish what was started, maybe I'll let you live Sam."

Sam moved himself in front of the weapon trained at his brother's head, putting his own body between the two and trying to act as a shield, blocking the shifter's vision of Dean momentarily, but just long enough. Dean let all the pain, anger, and hate he felt out in one swift move, launching his knife directly at the thing in front of Sam, knowing it wouldn't kill it but it would do a fair amount of damage, and hitting it in the right between the shoulder and the chest. The scream of pain that filled the room was horrid as it fell to its knees and ripped the knife free, but both brothers feeling some satisfaction when they heard it, the distraction enough for Sam to scramble to the floor and grab as many bullets as he could before it could come to its senses. He'd gotten three in his hand and quickly stuffed them into the clip to load his weapon before the beast had gotten back to its feet, and Sam was ready to fire, until he saw that he wasn't as quick as he had thought he'd been.

The shifter had already made its way to the door, had it open, and was ready to step out into the bright sunlight when it stopped and smiled one last time. "You gonna chase me Sammy?" He sneered, seeing what Sam had yet to notice behind him.

Dean had fallen to his stomach, and whether it was the excitement or the fact that he was sicker then a dog, he'd just started shaking spasmodically as his stomach lurched, the vomiting he'd been able to control earlier now relentlessly taking over as he clutched his stomach and writhed on the bed. Sam was in shock, he couldn't believe what was happening yet again. He'd been fine just an hour ago, what the hell was wrong now. Sam wanted to hunt that damn thing down and kill it where it stood, but now he just couldn't, and as he watched the bastard just close the door, he dropped himself on the bed and started to pray.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Dean felt Sam's weight drop next to him on the bed and immediately willed his body to stop its shaking as he tried to control his own stomach and stop it from turning inside out. It was difficult to do though as the cramps that had started bombarding him just kept coming, hitting him harder then a sledgehammer over and over in the stomach relentlessly, not letting up for a second. He really wanted Sam to help him to the bathroom so he could continue throwing up where he was supposed to, not in the bed where he just had, but more then anything in this world, he wanted this all to be just be over. He knew it was their only chance to end this, and damn it, he didn't want to waste it.

"Go…after…it," Dean spit out between short, harsh breaths as he pointed towards the door, at least he pointed in the direction he thought the door was in as his eyes were closed and his face was buried in the bed. Sam could only see half of it, but Dean's face had gone an unnatural shade of white, deathly white, even with the fever he knew was still burning inside him.

"I can't Dean," he told him in the most utterly defeated tone Dean thought he'd ever heard come from his brother.

"Can't…let…it…get…away," he insisted, each word being forced out through the fingers of the hand covering his face between a new set of heaves, the result of which was the sole reason Sam gave no pursuit. Sam saw what the heaving was producing, and for a moment, had been dumbstruck with no idea what to do as he sat there frozen like a statue, positive time had ceased to move.

"I have to Dean," Sam told him again, and even in the state he was in, Dean picked up on the way he'd said it immediately. It sounded bad, really bad.

"Sam…why?" Dean questioned, not sure he even wanted to know.

Sam didn't answer right away, he honestly didn't know what to say or even how to say it. He grabbed hold of the wrist that was attached to the hand that wasn't clenched tight around his stomach and held it out in front of his brother's face before asking him to do the damn near impossible. "Open your eyes Dean."

Hearing the fear in Sam's voice, he cracked his eyes open ever so slightly and Dean could see what Sam was trying very calmly to point out to him without actually having to say it out loud. Saying it out loud would make it real, and neither one of them wanted to believe any of this was actually happening. He stared at his own hand and marveled at how much blood it was covered in, his blood, the results of his violent vomiting not limited to the oatmeal and Gatorade Sam had made him eat and drink. "Shit," was the only word that came out before the cramps started again, not that they'd ever stopped. No, they had never stopped, but now they just intensified, if that was even possible. Dean's blood-covered hand searched, found, and grasped Sam's when they reached their peak, at least he hoped it was their peak because he couldn't imagine them getting any worse.

Over the course of his lifetime, Dean thought of how he'd been beaten, bitten, burnt, shot, stabbed, and slashed, just to name a few, but nothing even came close to comparing with this. This was a whole new world of hurt he'd never experienced before, and as much as he wished he could just pass out like normal people in agony did, for some reason his body just wouldn't let him. The heat in his stomach burned white-hot as every inch of his internal organs felt like they were being crushed by the hand of god himself. The harder the cramps hit him, the tighter his grip on his brother became until Sam could almost feel Dean's pain himself. Dean tried biting his lip to stifle the scream that was working its way out, but could no longer hold it in when he dug his teeth in too far and added to the blood already covering his lips and chin.

There was something about the way Dean screamed that finally got Sam's brain kicked into overdrive, the bone-chilling way it first came out then trailed off to nothing more then a whimper as his grip on Sam's hand finally relaxed and he just started to shake uncontrollably. Sam knew he had little time to waste and without so much as a word of warning jerked Dean upright and onto his feet, not waiting for him to even try to get his legs under him as he dragged him to the bathroom, lowering him to the floor and leaning him against the toilet as another bloodcurdling cry erupted from his lips. For a man that could barely speak, he sure could scream.

He ran a washcloth under the cold water from the faucet and started wiping Dean's face down, the blue veins that ran under his white skin clearly visible to his eyes. Finally cleaning the blood from his mouth and chin, he leaned his brother's head over the toilet, resting his cheek on the seat as he pulled his phone from his pocket, fully intent on breaking the promise he'd made. Dean was going down, and he was going down fast, way too fast to just be sick. Sam knew he had been starting to get better. His fever had gone down, he could swallow, he stayed awake for more then five minutes, hell, he'd even held conversation for a little while. There was no way he could have nosedived that fast, unless…

"Dean, I know this sucks, but you've got to keep throwing up. If you feel it coming, don't fight it, just let it out. I think he put something in the Gatorade you drank and you need to get as much of it out as you can, and we need to get you some help," Sam had his phone open and was starting to dial as he spoke. Watching Dean lay against the toilet and shake was breaking his heart and he had no intentions of letting his big brother die because he'd made a stupid promise, the stupid promise that was now coming back to haunt him, not only in a nightmare, but in reality now as well.

As if Dean could read his brother's mind, he lifted his head off the cold plastic seat and actually looked him in the eye, what little voice he could muster coming out hoarse and barely audible. "I won't be mad at you for breaking that promise you made to me Sammy."

Sam was momentarily dumbstruck for the second time in less then ten minutes, the words he heard coming from his brother's mouth almost sounding like a foreign language to him, one that he had no way of interpreting no matter how hard he tried, but the look in his eye was unmistakable. Dean would never admit it, but in his own way he had just asked Sam to take him to the last place on earth he ever wanted to go, and to Sam, that was petrifying. Sam already knew he had to get his brother to a hospital, but hearing Dean actually give him permission just never happened, not even in extreme circumstances. He guessed they were way beyond extreme this time.

"Are you telling me I should call 911?" He asked his brother, the silent shake of his head the only response he got, but it was enough for him to hit the talk button that he was poised to press anyway and let the call go.

He spoke fast, telling the operator what his problem was and begged for an ambulance as he watched Dean's stomach contract as he started to retch again, and with no food left in him all that was left to spit up was blood. Making a mad dash for the door, he opened it wide and left it open as he asked the voice on the other end to please hurry and rambled off their location before he hung up and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He wet down a towel with cool water and threw it over Dean's hunched, shaking form in an effort to cool his once again burning body as he attempted to rub his back in the hopes of calming him down, the contact with the broken skin scattered across his back just causing his brother's shoulders to arch in a different kind of pain. Sam immediately stopped what he was doing at the first sound of the hiss that escaped Dean's lips and just laid his hands on the his brother's shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze, hoping it would help.

The retching spell finally passing, Dean could no longer keep himself upright and slumped against Sam's crouched form, almost knocking him over as his dead weight fell into him, not unconscious, but not alert anymore either. Catching himself before going down, Sam rested his brother's head in his lap and watched as his eyes fixed onto a spot on the ceiling momentarily before rolling back into his head, the pasty white skin of his face now a flushed bight pink.

"DAMN IT DEAN, OPEN YOUR EYES!" Sam screamed as he laid a gentle tap against his cheek, knowing he had to keep him conscious, at least for himself. If he was awake, he was alive, and when they got to the hospital he knew he wouldn't see him for hours, because that's the way it always went, and he wondered if he'd even see him alive again at all. So, for now, one way or another, Dean was staying conscious, because Sam said so.

The screaming of his name jerked him back into the real world, his eyes no longer fixed on the ceiling but fixed on Sam's, the sudden realization that he needed to tell him something that just couldn't wait burned into his mind. He knew if he didn't tell him now, he'd never tell him, because frankly, he didn't think he'd live long enough to share it later. He had heard what Sam said, something in the Gatorade, and figured that was how they were finally going to take him out. He'd been almost decimated by physical torture and infection that his body had nothing left to fight with, and for a brief moment, admired the cunning of his soon to be murderers. He reached his hand up to Sam's head and pulled him down to his face, his throat unable to produce more the a whisper that would be drowned out by the screaming wail of the sirens that were now just outside the wide open door. He mumbled something into Sam's ear as the paramedics stormed into the room and found them on the bathroom floor, Sam's eyes almost wider then his face as he picked his head back up and stared at Dean, the affirmative nod of his head telling Sam he'd heard exactly what he'd wanted him to hear.

"What seems to be the problem here?" The EMT asked, the name 'Harrison' etched out across the little gold plate on the right side of the man's chest. It sounded like a good question, it was the usual one he asked when he entered every situation, the scene he'd walked into seeming to be a relatively calm one, until the question was fully out in the air. He watched as the man sprawled out on the cold tile and in obvious physical distress of some kind started shuddering on the floor as both arms curled tight around his middle as he started moaning out loud in borderline agony.

"My brother's really sick, and I think he may have been…umm…poisoned," Sam told him, waiting for the response he was sure he was going to get, and did get too.

"Did you just say poisoned? You're kidding, right?" Harrison asked incredulously, and had he not seen Dean rolling around on the floor in noticeable misery, he would have thought this was some stupid fraternity prank.

"No, I'm not kidding. Can you please stop looking at me like I'm crazy and help my brother?" Sam shot him a look that told him he better start taking him very seriously, and the medic decided that's exactly what he'd better do. As much as he didn't believe what the kid was telling him, he was starting to wonder if he really was telling him the truth.

"Ok, poisoned with what?" He asked, it being the obvious next question.

"I don't know what, and the person that did didn't exactly let me in on that little bit of information before they left either."

"Ok kid, relax. We'll do everything we can. First thing is getting him off this bathroom floor and giving us some room to work. Do you think we can do that, um, what's your name?" He tried to ask Sam in as reassuring a way as he could, seeing he was already riled up and didn't want to add to it anymore.

"Sam."

"Alright Sam, do you want to help me get him onto a bed, or do you want my partner over there to?"

"I'll do it," he answered, already sliding his arms under Dean's shoulders and wrapping them around his chest as he pulled him up closer to him to get a better grip, aggravating the probably broken ribs at his side as he listened to another groan of pain escape, knowing he didn't really have a choice in the matter. Everything they did to Dean from here on out was going to elicit some kind of pain, that was just the unavoidable facts. Harrison watched Sam as he started to rise to his feet with his brother pulled tight against him and made a move to grab his legs, instead standing back and watching in amazement as the man that had just been rolling around on the cold tile somehow planted his feet on the floor and started walking with his brother into the other room and dropped himself down on the nearest bed.

Both medics wasted no time once Sam had dragged Dean closer to the head of the bed so that his legs were no longer hanging off the foot limply and he was totally flat on the mattress, Dean's head once again resting in Sam's lap. It was an all too familiar sight for Sam, one he'd seen only days before, that situation far less dire then this one, but this time, he was paying full attention to everything they did, letting each and every poke and stick they made and every word they said sink into himself as well as his brother, storing the rage it prompted inside for future use, very near future use.

"How long ago do you think he ingested the poison Sam?" Harrison asked him and watched Sam try to figure out in his head how long ago it had actually been. It felt like an eternity, and Sam struggled to figure out just how long it had been since he'd unwittingly forced poison down his brother's throat.

"Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour," was his best guess, and that's what he told them.

"Is it safe to assume he's already vomited?" He thought that to be a good guess, since he'd found them on the bathroom floor, and glanced at the mess in the other bed when they'd come in.

"Yeah, a few times. First time was actual food and blood, the other times was just blood." That comment drew a look of concern from both medics faces, and they were truly starting to think Sam wasn't all that crazy. Maybe he was right.

"Sam, I have to ask, is there something more going on here? All these symptoms are suggesting a lot more the what you're telling me. I can see the stitches in his throat and in his head, he's bruised all over, and he's got a fever pushing the 104 mark. What was going on before you say he was poisoned?"

"First he was in a bar fight, then he got sick and couldn't breathe. He was in the hospital a couple days ago, they gave him some antibiotics when he checked himself out. He was finally improving, then suddenly this all happened. An hour ago his fever was only 102-ish and other then tired, was perfectly fine." Sam was vague on most of the details, but he gave enough information to give the guy the gist of what the hell had been going on over the last few days, and he hoped it was enough.

"Ok, we're gonna load him up, but you need to do something for me. You need to grab everything he's had to eat and drink in the last twenty-four hours, including any prescription and over-the-counter medications you've given him, and as much as you aren't going to like this, you need to gather up the sheet on that bed over there and bring that with too. Can you do that for me while we do the rest?"

"Yeah, I think I can handle it," Sam agreed, trying not to let the irritation Harrison was instigating by talking to him like he was an idiot bother him. He knew the man was trying to keep the situation under control, and Sam just decided to let him.

Sam waited for them to lift his brother up off him, the sweat that had been pouring from his back leaving wet marks on his jeans and shirt that sent a chill up him as the cold air from outside blew in and brushed past him. Shaking the cold from his bones, he took one of the now empty bags that had been scattered across the bed that had never been slept in and started dropping things into it one by one. Empty bowl from the oatmeal he'd made this morning and forced Dean to eat, mostly empty Gatorade bottle he'd forced Dean to drink, antibiotics and Tylenol bottles that he'd forced his brother to take. Damn, the more he thought about it, one of these containers had a lethal dose of something in it, and he'd been the one to administer it, and if that didn't just make him feel even more like shit.

"You ready?" Harrison asked as Sam turned and saw that he was the only other person in the room with him, Dean and his partner were now long gone.

"Just gotta grab the sheet, that's all," he told him as he ripped the bedding from the mattress, leaving it bare as he balled it up and stuck it in a separate bag and turned to leave. Both men walked out the door, Sam slamming it behind him and wishing he'd left Rockford when Dean had asked him to. Sam climbed into the back of the waiting ambulance while his new best friend climbed alongside him, his nameless partner slamming the door behind them and dragging himself behind the wheel as he flipped on all the lights and sirens and sped away. Sam didn't recognize the giant Suburban parked at the other end of the lot before he'd gotten in and they sped away, nor did he see the head of blonde hair hidden inside, watching in frustration as they brought out a still very much alive Dean Winchester.

"Sam, do you know what hospital he was in last time? It would be best if we head there since they have all the records."

"I don't know which one it was, but they took a bunch of people from that expressway crash there."

"Well, that narrows it down. You remember the name of the doctor that treated him?"

"Yeah, lady doctor, name was Matthews."

"Good enough. We'll call ahead and tell them we're coming,"

Harrison crawled the short distance from where he sat to the drivers seat and whispered something to his partner who immediately picked up the radio and started talking to someone that Sam just couldn't hear, and would have stopped listening when he heard the god awful sounds of Dean starting to throw up again, this time blessedly producing nothing as he just heaved, Harrison turning him on his side to face Sam anyway so he wouldn't choke. The clenching of his stomach finally subsiding, they all thought it was over, until Dean now started convulsing as his lips started turning blue, eyes rolling back into his head, this time staying there when Sam screamed his name.

"Drive faster Charlie!" Harrison hollered from the back as he watched Dean slowly start to die.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: I just want to say big, huge thanks to everyone that has taken the time to read and review. I am grateful that everyone that has read has enjoyed. There are only two more to go after this one, so hang on for the rest of the ride!

You have all been awesome!

Chapter 25

Sam watched in sheer astonishment as Dean started twitching in front of him while his lips were turning a deathly shade of blue. He'd heard Harrison scream at his partner to drive faster and suddenly felt the ambulance lurch left and right as Charlie, the partner that now had a name, weaved in and out of traffic at a ridiculous rate of speed doing exactly what Harrison had ordered him to while Harrison himself tried to determine the reason for Dean's sudden lack of air intake. It took all of three seconds for him to realize Dean wasn't twitching , he was making a feeble attempt at coughing, and was actually choking.

Harrison laid his meaty hand on Dean's shoulder to brace him as he delivered a well placed blow to the center of his back, square between his shoulder blades with the palm of his other open hand, causing Dean's eyes to open wide at the shock of the jolt, only to close again once it passed. The first attempt unsuccessful, he drew his hand back and readied himself to give another when Sam finally pulled his head out of the trance he'd been in and started screaming at the man.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? HE'S DYING DAMN IT, DO SOMETHING!" His voice came out shrieked and panicked, but the medic ignored him as he again pounded his hand hard against Dean's bare back and once again shocking his eyes open as they filled themselves with a pained look.

"He's choking Sam," Harrison said in as calm a voice as possible considering the circumstances as he landed a third fruitless blow and prepared for the fourth, planning on the fourth being the final attempt he'd make before he took more drastic measures. The Heimlich would probably not be in Dean's ribs best interests at the moment, but if he had to, he would resort to it because death wasn't in Dean's best interests either.

The fourth blow that he finally delivered, with a little added force then the first three, garnered the desired results as blood sprayed from Dean's lips and stained the denim of Sam's knees. Sam didn't care though as he listened to his brother suck in a deep breath before he started coughing. Sam finally let out the breath he'd been holding in himself as Dean's coughing finally quieted and he rolled himself onto his back again, his hand reaching for Sam's and Sam taking it as he wiped the blood from his lower lip with his sleeve, intent on not letting his brother's hand go.

"Sam," he said in the loudest voice he could, pulling his brother towards him as he tried to speak, wanting to tell Sam what was on his mind before he couldn't speak anymore. "Promise me something Sammy," he whispered in his ear now that Sam had his head closer to Dean's lips.

"I don't like the way that sounds already Dean," he told his brother, squeezing his hand just a little bit tighter, sensing what was coming was nothing Sam really wanted to hear.

Dean ignored Sam's remark and kept talking, desperate to clear his head. "Sam, promise me you'll finish this if I don't make it. You can't just let it go, you have to end it."

"Don't talk like that man, you're gonna make it, you have to. I can't do this alone," Sam was trying to keep it together but every word he heard coming from Dean's lips only made it harder and harder. Sam could tell what Dean was thinking by his words and tone and if Dean was giving up, was there really any hope left?

"I don't think so Sammy, not this time. Promise me, please."

Sam fought to control the tears he knew were starting to well in his eyes, not wanting Dean to see him break down and cry. No way was he going to admit to himself that his brother was going to die, and making that promise to him was an admission of defeat in his eyes. Making that promise was saying Dean was as good as dead. "Dean, please don't say that. You sound like you're giving up. You've never given up on anything your entire life, why are you starting now?"

"Not giving up Sammy, just facing reality. I'm so tired, and it hurts so much, I just want it to stop, and I don't have a whole lot of fight left anymore," he said with a moan when the ambulance jerked to a halt and doors were thrown open wide as medical personnel scrambled all over everywhere to rush his brother inside, all of them knowing full well that Dean was coming and what he was coming for. That was it, that was Dean caving in.

Sam kept pace with them easily as he followed everyone in step for step, his brother's cold hand still clutched tightly in his own as they made their way through the doors and into the treatment area, not one person giving him a second look as the familiar face of Dr. Matthews approached him, that very familiar pissed off face.

"I told them you can stay, but make no mistake Sam, if you get in the way you will be escorted out, do you understand?" She stood there staring him down with her hands on her hips just waiting for Sam to respond.

"Yeah, I understand," was his answer, eyes firmly planted on the swirling design adorning the tile floor under his feet as if he was utterly fascinated by it.

"Good. First things first, we need to get some x-rays taken. While they are doing that, may I have a word with you, in private?" Not giving Sam an opportunity to answer, she grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him out into the nearest hall, his hand reluctantly pulled away from his brother's as she dragged him out with her. "Well, I knew you'd be back, but I didn't think it would be like this. Let's get one thing straight Sam, the only reason you are being allowed to stay is because frankly, it doesn't sound like you're brother is going to live through the night. I will do everything in my power to make sure he does, but from the sounds of it, it doesn't look very promising. If you think he was poisoned I'm sure you have your reasons that I'm anxious to hear, but that will just have to wait. I assume you can tell me everything he's had to eat and drink in the last twelve hours, right?"

Sam didn't need to even think twice before he answered her. "Right here in this bag. This morning was the first time he's eaten in a couple days, and all he had was oatmeal. God, Dean hates oatmeal, why did I make him eat it? Of all the things I could have given him, his last meal may be one of the things he hates the most. I'm such an …"

"Focus! What else Sam, what else has he ingested?" She cut him off quickly since she really had no patience for his mind wanderings as time really was of the essence, every second precious.

"These pills you gave him, he took them last night and this morning too," Sam produced the bottle from the bag and handed it over to her. She twisted the cap off and dumped them into her hand and stared at them for a few seconds before reading the label on the bottle, the look on her face a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"Sam, these pills on the top aren't the ones we gave him. There are three capsules here, the rest are tablets, which is what they are supposed to be. Somehow these were added to the bottle, and they're not the pills that were prescribed. To be perfectly honest, I don't even know what they are. How many of what you gave him this morning were these capsules Sam?"

"I don't know, I just took out four and he took them, I didn't look at them."

"Why did you give him four? He's only supposed to take two." She shot him a dirty look at that answer. She was definitely going to get the whole story, one way or another.  
"It's a long story. You don't think the pills were what poisoned him, do you?"

"I don't know, but we need to find out, and the sooner the better." She took a few quick steps to the nurses station and handed the entire bottle over before dishing out her order. "I need to know what's in those capsules, and I need to know what's in them NOW!"

The nurse took off without saying a word, rushing to the nearest elevator and pushing her way in as Dr. Matthews grabbed Sam and returned to her patient. Sam retook his place at his brother's side and quickly took his hand back in his own, trying to be careful of the new IV line that had been stuck into it since he'd been gone and surprised at how cold it was considering how high his fever had gotten. Dean breathed a small sigh of relief now that his brother was back, but now that the doctor was back too, he knew the real fun would now begin.

A lot had happened in the few minutes the two of them had been gone, the heart monitor now making its presence known as it beeped away, each hand sporting a needle and tubing attached to it, the one currently in Sam's hand dripping blood back into his body now that he'd vomited up most of what was probably coursing through his veins and the damn nurses had sucked out the rest for their tests that they always seemed to need to run, at least that's how it felt to him anyway. They'd taken their x-rays, removed the bandages from his hand to reveal his mangled mess of fingers that had finally scabbed over but still looked like ground beef, leaving it open to the air to make it easier for them to poke him whenever they felt like it. He tried to listen to everything they were saying but was having trouble concentrating on anything other then the pain he felt in just about every part of his body, different areas hurting the most at any given moment. He was thankful that he hadn't needed to throw up for the last few minutes though, at least that was a relief. He watched as someone came in with the x-rays they'd taken and heard the doctor say something he was sure meant bad news.

"Ok, either there's a blockage in the GI tract, or Sam's right, there's a large dose of something in there. Sam, how long ago was the first thing Dean ate, drank, or took today?"

"About an hour, maybe hour and a half ago, I think. Not much longer then that," it was Sam's best answer since he really had no idea how long it had been. Everything was moving in slow motion and making it feel like hours, or even days.

She studied the x-ray just a few minutes longer and formulated a suspicion before turning around and crossing the distance in just a few steps back to Dean, who had finally broken his gaze with Sam and now just laid there glassy-eyed, staring at the ceiling. His face no longer held any emotion as he stared, almost as if he'd fallen asleep with his eyes wide open, an occasional blink the only thing indicating the he was still alive. She rested her hand gently on his shoulder as she spoke to him in a calm, compassionate tone, a far cry from the one she reserved for Sam.

"Dean, can you look at me," she asked, waiting to continue until his eyes had met hers and she could tell he was listening and comprehending. "If I sit you up a little, do you think you could drink something for me to help clean out whatever is in your system right now?"

He scowled at that suggestion, not wanting to put anything anywhere near his mouth anytime in the near future, but the way she gave his arm a soft, gentle squeeze and looked into his eyes, he could almost feel how much she really wanted to help and before he knew it, he was shaking his head yes before he could even stop it.

"Good, it may taste a little odd, but you need to drink it all and as quickly as you can, ok?" She had already motioned for one of the nurses to start cranking the back of the bed up until Dean was upright enough to swallow easily. She handed him the little bottle with a straw inside, but for some reason he just couldn't hold it, and as she grabbed his wrist and calmly forced his arm back down onto the bed like it was no big deal, she handed the bottle off to Sam, giving him that look Sam had only seen a couple of times but already didn't like.

Sam took the bottle readily and guided the straw into his brother's mouth like he had already done so many times over the last day or so and watched him start drawing in the dark fluid, his face scrunching up at the nasty taste. He struggled to swallow and it took an almost Herculean effort to get the first mouthful down, but he did, and everyone that had been watching let out a little sigh of relief.

"What is that stuff?" Sam finally asked as Dean started on mouthful number two and sported the same discontented look he had the first time.

"Activated charcoal. It'll help clean the toxins from the stomach and intestines."

"Tastes like shit," Dean chimed in after his second gulp before he reluctantly started on the third.

Dr. Matthews chuckled slightly, somewhat grateful her patient was still relatively alert. "Quit complaining. If you'd been here half an hour ago, you'd be enjoying our housekeeping services with a good old fashioned stomach pump right now. Be glad all you're getting is the crushed up briquettes." That actually drew a small smile from Dean, the first real one he'd had in over a week. "You finish that, I'll be right back."

Dean instantly froze when she gave him one more quick squeeze and made to leave, and Sam instantly knew something was wrong. Dean pulled him close and quickly whispered a few well chosen words into his ear before Sam put down the bottle and started following her, fumbling through his pockets for something, anything personal he could find. He stopped her with a hand to her shoulder a few steps away and she gave him 'that' look again when she turned around. Sam got the distinct feeling she didn't like him very much at the moment, and judging by the look on her face, he was probably right, and he probably deserved it.

"Dr. Matthews, Dean's still in a lot of pain, Is there something you can give him to help? He won't admit it, but I can see it in his face," Sam asked her in an almost begging tone with his best puppy-dog eyed face he could come up with. It actually made her soften up to him, just a little bit. She never noticed his hand brush over her pocket and drop something inside as he asked.

"We already have Sam, I'm sorry, but until we know what exactly we're dealing with we just can't risk giving him anything else, and we need him awake as long as possible. I'm counting on you to help do that, ok?"

"Anything you ask," he answered as he turned and went back to Dean, taking up the little bottle and continuing where they'd left off.

"Well?" Dean voiced his one word question as he forced himself to finish the crap he was being forced to drink yet again, thinking he'd rather have Sam's damn Gatorade, then rethinking that thought when he remembered the Gatorade could be the very reason why they were here in the first place.

"She never noticed. If it's her, it'll still be there when she gets back."

He may be dying, but he was still a hunter, but this time he knew he was still the prey too. Dean said nothing, just shook his head and continued mindlessly sucking on the straw and swallowing until he heard the joyous sound that came from an empty bottle, that sound he could always annoy his little brother with if he just kept sucking air. Sam pulled the bottle away and shot Dean that 'Cut the shit' look, causing Dean to produce yet another smile, this one accompanied by a quiet snicker.

"Dude, do you ever quit?" He asked as he just shook his head and smiled slightly himself, the look on Dean's face the first good one he'd seen since they'd come to Rockford.

"Nope. I'm gonna annoy you 'til the day I die," Dean said, and instantly regretted it when he saw Sam's face fall and wished he could catch it and put it back on before it hit the floor and broke into a million pieces.

"That's not funny Dean."

"Sorry Sammy, didn't mean it."

"It's Sam, jerk," he retorted, letting the small smile he'd had return, and let it get wider when he saw Dean's had returned too when he gave him a gentle punch in the arm.

"Bitch," he let out his favorite response. The brief moment of Winchester normality ended quickly as they both visibly stiffened when they saw Dr. Matthews had returned. They looked at each other first, then fixed their gaze directly on her.

"Well, did you get all that yummy stuff down?" She asked through a forced smile, sensing his sudden anxiety and approaching slowly, her hand on his shoulder again giving him that warm fuzzy feeling, the visible sign Sam had left on her helping him to relax.

Dean shook his head in response like a proud six-year old on kindergarten graduation day. His happy face lasted about another twenty seconds, and everyone saw the instant facial change that came over him, both Sam and Dr. Matthews visually seeing up close what was coming when he sat up and turned to his side. Sam moved first as he grabbed the nearest bucket-type container he could find, immediately bringing it to his brother's face before all his hard word ended up being for nothing as it made its way up, out and into the bucket. Sam wasn't sure if he should be worried or relieved as he watched yet another episode of pained retching when he noticed the contents of the bucket had no shades of red inside. That had to be a positive, right? After a few long minutes, Dean finally relaxed and dropped himself back against his pillow, breathing heavily and soaked with sweat, totally spent physically and completely wrecked emotionally. He said nothing, just laid there with his eyes closed, shivering occasionally.

"You ok?" Dr. Matthews asked first as she patted his arm softly. He just gave her his usual shake of the head reaction, never once opening his eyes.

"Sam, can I speak to you for a minute?" She asked him as she motioned to the hall and started walking away, fully expecting him to follow her, which he obediently did. He had no intentions of annoying the woman anymore then he already had. She waited until they were fully out of earshot before she began.

"I'm sorry Sam, but we're going to have to put a gastric tube in place and run that solution directly into his stomach. He has to keep it down somehow, and I'm afraid that may be the only way. I'm assuming that's not going to go over very well, so we may as well get it over with now. I'm hoping you can keep him calm because this isn't going to be fun."

"Whatever it takes, do whatever you need to."

They both returned to the little cubicle sized area they occupied and prepared for what was not gong to be a very pleasant experience for either brother. Sam retook his position as his brother's side for the umpteenth time and waited for someone to deliver the news to Dean, who had pretty much already shut everyone and everything around him out. Sam watched as nurses scurried around him, but went tense when he saw they were ready to begin, and somehow Dean sensed Sam's distress, cracking his eyes open to see what was up since the room had gone entirely too quiet. Sam figured the news would best be delivered by him and started to explain what was about to happen before anyone else could speak up.

"Dean, Dr. Matthews is going to put a tube into your stomach and drop that crap right in. That's gonna make it a whole lot easier on you? Now you won't have to drink it anymore. You just need to relax and let them do it, ok?" Sam started to cringe once he'd stopped talking and the deathly silence sank in, fully expecting stark defiance from his obstinate brother at the mere mention of anyone shoving anything anywhere, but he felt nothing but dejection when all he got was another muttered, one word response.

"Whatever," was all they would get from him. He was done, completely done. He didn't care what they did to him anymore. He just laid there as Sam took his hand again in an attempt to comfort and support him as he felt the cold plastic start at his nose, working its way down the back of his throat and forcing him to swallow, only to gag slightly as it continued it's trek down to his stomach. Little by little they fed it in, and he knew they were close when he felt the cold metal against his abdomen and heard the good doctor say triumphantly "It's in." He didn't realize he'd tensed up as hard as he had until he felt himself relax, the grip on Sam's hand almost crushing it and hoped now they would just leave him alone. He didn't think they could possibly poke and prod and stick him anywhere else, but at this point, he really didn't care. He couldn't even do it for Sam anymore. All he could muster was a small grunt when Sam asked him if he was alright, and Sam knew it would be best if he just left it alone for now. So, in silence they sat, until Sam just couldn't take it anymore.

"Dean, why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"Don't want to," was his somewhat nasal response, and as bad as he felt, he almost wanted to laugh at how he sounded.

"Dude, you seriously need some sleep. Who knows how long you're going to be here. You can't stay awake forever."

"I said I don't want to," he told him again, the irritated tone coming through loud and clear.

"Why not? You can barely keep your eyes open as it is."

"Because I may not wake up if I do," was the blatantly obvious answer, and Sam wanted to kick himself yet again for even asking, the comment leaving him speechless. For one of the very few times in his life, Sam didn't know what to say, and thankfully, didn't need to wrack his brain trying to figure it out either. No, he'd been saved by the very patient doctor that was doing her best to keep his brother alive, and so far was succeeding.

"Hey guys. We're ready to move you to a room Dean. Sam's going to come with me for a few minutes if you don't mind, and we'll meet you upstairs," she smiled at him, but Sam read something else altogether, something very ominous was written across her face and his heart started to race. Dean didn't answer, just waved his hand at her, and Sam got up to leave as orderlies showed up behind her to take him wherever they were going.

"Hey Sam, don't let her out of your sight," he tossed back at his brother as they walked out, and Dr. Matthews let out a little laugh at that, not really knowing what the hell Dean meant by it. Sam watched as they stood in the hall as he was wheeled by, his face turning from stupidly smiling to deadly serious once his brother was out of sight.

"You know something. What's wrong with my brother?"

"Sam, if I said things were bad, that would be the understatement of the century. I don't even know where to begin. I think we better sit down," she told him as she tried to figure out how to tell Sam what she needed to tell him.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: I know I said it would be complete in two more, but I sort of miscalculated. When I re-read the posting at the other site, I decided to separate the chapters and fine tune them a little. I truly hope you enjoy this one, and hope you look forward to the rest. Thanks to all that read and review, I love you all!

Chapter 26

"I don't want to sit down, just tell me what's so wrong with my brother that you couldn't tell me in front of him," Sam stared at her, wishing he could just climb into her skull and see it all for himself since all of his patience was pretty much exhausted.

"Early tests results show very near lethal levels of arsenic, and before you ask, yes, it was in the capsules. I'm starting a series of injections of a medication called Dimercaprol that should start to remove the toxic metal from his blood, and I'll tell you right now, they aren't pleasant."

"Of course they aren't, why should they be? That's your favorite thing to say, isn't it, that it won't be pleasant." Sam had to say it because he was right, for some reason, nothing lately seemed to be very pleasant.

"There's more Sam, and it just gets more unpleasant as we go," she continued, seeing another frustrated comment coming from the look on his face.

"Why am I not surprised at that either? So, what's the rest?"

"His body is starting to go into septic shock. It's either the infection from his throat, his kidney, the lacerations across his back or the rat bites that's found it's way into his bloodstream and…"

"RAT BITES! WHAT RAT BITES?" Sam's shock wore off quickly when the picture of his brother cowering behind that disgusting bed in the corner with a big, fat rat curled up in his lap flashed into his mind and he knew that the damn thing had done a lot more than just go to sleep on him, the chill it sent up his spine clearly visible when he shuddered from head to toe.

"There's a couple bite marks on his head and feet, but his fingers weren't just bit, they were gnawed on. Where the hell was he that rats were chewing on him Sam? Oh, and his back, I'd really like an explanation for that too, because I know what those injuries look like to me." There was that look again, the one that made Sam drop his gaze and stare at the floor like a scolded child. "Never mind, you can tell me later. I'm sure it's all part of that long story you're going to share with me eventually, right?"

"Umm, yeah... right," he replied, having no real intention of doing any such thing now, later, or ever.

"We'll be bombarding him with a wide range of antibiotics until we can narrow the strains down, but that's going to take at least the next twenty-four hours. Until then, let's hope something starts working."

"Something tells me there's still more," he picked his head back up and looked at her, blatantly seeing that the look she was giving saying that she was far from finished was written across her face.

"Yeah, there's more. The kidney infection has spread through his entire urinary tract now. That added to the sepsis has pretty much reduced his urinary output to nothing, even with all the fluids we've put back into him. That needs to be dealt with first and foremost since his body will purge most of that poison through his kidneys. We have to catheterize him now to take some of the strain off, but we may need to seriously consider dialysis." she paused to let that sink in, knowing she still wasn't quite finished yet but not wanting to overwhelm Sam all at one time considering how well he was already taking everything.

Sam breathed deeply and took her moment of silence to express his thoughts at the moment. "If the antibiotics start working, that won't be necessary though, right? I mean, if the infection starts to clear, doesn't everything start working again?"

"It's not that simple Sam. It should be, but in this case it just isn't. There's still something I haven't told you yet." She rubbed her eyes, and Sam could see this was almost as exhausting for her as it was for him.

"There's more? How much more could there possibly be?"

"We can already tell there's something unusual about one of the bacterial strains in his blood. The antibiotics we've been administering appear to be working, and then somehow the strain mutates and becomes immune. I've never seen anything like it. We change drugs, it adapts like a chameleon. I don't know if we'll even be able to treat it. Eventually, we'll run out of antibiotics to use and there won't be anything we can do to stop it," she let out a sigh and Sam thought she had finally finished telling him everything.

"Is there anything else, or does that about cover it?"

"No, there's just one more thing," she said as Sam rolled his eyes, not really sure he wanted he could hear anymore. "With all the blood he's been vomiting, his blood pressure is dangerously low and we have not been able to bring it up yet, despite replacing his blood volume with transfusions and the saline solution going in. I'm having an IV put into a larger vein in his forearm that can handle a heavier flow without blowing out his veins, and hopefully we'll start seeing some improvement. That, I think, is about it. I don't know how much of that you want me to tell him, and he's so sick and weak that he may not want to hear any of it anyway."

"I'll tell him what he needs to know," Sam told her, his thoughts going right to what she said about the infection and immediately knowing it was the core of the problem. He was no doctor, but he was pretty sure infections didn't mutate at will, not like that. There was definitely more to this than meets the eye. "Can we go up there now? I need to be with my brother."

"Come on, I'll take you up. You'll be allowed to stay as long as you want, just in case," the last words were spoken in a way that made them sound more like 'it's just a matter of time'.

Sam followed her in silence up the elevator and into the ICU. There weren't very many people mulling around in the halls, but the ones that were all had the same facial expressions, and if Sam could see his own face right now, he'd see that it wore that same look as well. She escorted him to Dean's room and gave him a little pat on the back before she kept walking, telling Sam she'd be right back. Sam stepped into the room tentatively as he tried to figure out just what exactly he wanted to share with his brother about his condition, and how he was going to explain what he knew he needed to do to resolve it. He saw what was going on inside though, and knew it would have to wait.

Dean was laying on his side with his back to the door, the cute, young nurse they'd left with him putting the finishing touches on the dressings she'd covered his back in before closing the hospital gown over it, leaving it untied, once again, just in case. Some of the open wounds were already showing signs of an infection starting, and Sam's stomach turned when he saw the bloody, pus covered gauze on the tray next to her and knew she hadn't just 'bandaged' him up. Coming fully into the room and facing his brother for the first time knowing just how sick he really was, he saw that Dean's hands were now free from the numerous IV lines that had been stuck in them and were now covered in bruises instead, seeing that one, single, larger line in his forearm right where he'd been told it would be. Dean's eyes were half open and empty, the stare he had fixed on the wall holding virtually no emotion anymore, the pain behind his deep green eyes still well hidden but physically obvious by the way he had curled into a tight ball again. He redirected his eyes at Sam when he finally saw him and forced a fake smile, solely for his brother's sake.

"Hey Sam, you finally sneak out to join the party?" Dean asked, trying to hide the pain in his voice from his little brother's sharp ears.

"Yeah, had to finish my homework first." Sam retorted, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, you're just in time. The beautiful nurse Tina and I were just about to get really intimate with one another. You wanna join, maybe make it a threesome?" He threw Sam a wink, but somehow, Sam just didn't feel like laughing right now, somehow knowing there was a hidden meaning behind that comment.

"Dude, I knew I should have Ok'd that psych eval when they asked me too, because I seriously think you may be insane."

"Thanks bro, I love you too," he replied, not only with words, but a well chosen finger as well as he stuck out his tongue like he did when he was nine.

"Uh hum, Sorry to interrupt, but I'm ready if you are," Tina the nurse informed Dean, anxious to complete her one last duty and get the hell out of the room, the conversation just a little too weird for her now.

"Do you want me to wait outside?" Sam asked his brother as he threw a thumb towards the door, not entirely sure what was coming next was something Dean would want him around for. Not entirely, anyway.

"Nah Sammy, you can stay, as long as you promise not to peek. Wouldn't want you to get an inferiority complex or anything," Dean wisecracked, sending his message loud and clear this time to Sam. It was Dean's way of asking his brother to stay for what was probably going to be one of the worst moments of his life.

"I'm sorry Dean, but I need you to be on your back. Can you lay flat for me, please?" Tina instructed more than questioned with an extreme lack of patience, and Dean silently obliged, letting the numerous snarks he'd had going through his head just go as he forced himself back over rather painfully and waited for the inevitable. Sam turned his back to her and what was about to happen when she pulled the blanket down and just stared at the beeping heart monitor as the little line jumped up and down, counting the beats one after another as they seemed to pound just a little bit faster, and wanting more than anything in the world to be somewhere else at this very second; like maybe in hell, that would even be a better place right now. "This tends to be a little 'uncomfortable' when there's an infection, so try to relax and I'll get it over with as fast as I can."

Sam watched as Dean just squinted his cloudy eyes and waited, his face changing from anticipation to realization in just a few seconds and Sam knew exactly what 'uncomfortable' meant when he saw his brother was suddenly holding his breath and reaching for something, anything, to grab and hold on to. Letting Dean grab onto him, Sam now knew why he'd wanted him to stay. She must have already warned him what to expect before Sam had even gotten there.

"All done," she announced, both men visibly relaxing and breathed, Dean first, then Sam. "Well, I think I'm done abusing you for a while. You call if you need anything, ok?"

She walked out when she saw her patient just shake his head, and when they were finally alone, Dean posed the inevitable question Sam knew he was going to ask and dreading the eventuality of having to answer. "Let's have it Sammy, what did the doctor want to tell you she couldn't say in front of me?" There it was, right in his face without any sugarcoating.

"What makes you think she told me anything?" He dodged the question, more than likely unsuccessfully.

"Because you look like someone just ran over your dog, that's why. I can tell you're hiding something. One way or another I'll find out anyway, so you may as well tell me now. I think I have a right to know, don't you?"

Sam breathed in hard before he started telling Dean what he absolutely had a right to know. "You were poisoned with arsenic, that's what she said. That and the infection is in your blood now. She said it's bad, that's all." Sam had told him with his eyes trained on the floor.

"So, translated into English, she basically said I'm screwed and should get ready to die, right?" He asked with a huff and roll of his eyes.

"No, that's not what she said. She said they're doing everything they can, but the infection isn't normal. It mutates when the antibiotics attack it. What's that sound like to you?"

"Sounds like I'm screwed Sammy," Dean said with a sigh, and then continued when his brother said nothing in reply. "Sam, if you find Dad, I want you to tell him I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? What could you possibly have to be sorry for?" Sam was more than a little concerned that that comment came from clear out of the blue, that defeated tone coming from Dean once again that he didn't want to hear.

"For screwing up. If I'd been on my game and a little better, none of this would have happened. I let him down, and I let you down too."

Sam couldn't listen to Dean's heartbreaking tone of defeat anymore, not when he knew he could do something about it, and knew it was time to go for broke.

"I know what you're going to say, but just hear me out first. We can't just sit here wondering if every person that walks in here is legit or here to try and kill you Dean, and how would we even know until it's too late anyway? We need to find out what they did to you. They covered all their bases pretty well. They made sure that if the arsenic didn't kill you, the infection would. It's not natural, the way it alters itself like a…"

"Shapeshifter?" Dean finished his brother's sentence for him, catching on pretty quick to what Sam was telling him. He hadn't just made small talk with nurse Tina after all, and had already figured out what Sam had just told him himself.

"Yeah, like a shapeshifter. They are the key, and I have to do this. It may be the only way to save you, or you're going die sure as shit, and I just can't let that happen. So, before you go telling me I can't because it's too dangerous just…"

"No fucking way Sam! You are not going after her...it by yourself. If something happened to you because of me…"

"Because of you? God damn it Dean, you're like this right now because of me!"

"Sam, this isn't your fault…"

"Yes it is, Dean! This is all my fault. If I hadn't…" Sam started shaking as he cut his own words off when he saw Dean's eyes start their slow roll to the back of his head, the frantic beeping from the heart monitor next to him calling out it's warning and drawing a mob of people into the room with it, Dr. Matthews being the one leading the charge.

"Blood pressure's 70/30 and dropping," one nurse yelled.

"He's not breathing," came from another, almost at the same time.

Sam felt himself being pushed out of the way as he watched his new worst nightmare unfold before him, hearing the voices but not really 'hearing' the voices, the only sound really making it into his brain to comprehend was the long, droning hum that had replaced the warning sounds from the dreaded machine. He watched them slide another tube down his brother's throat as a companion to the one already down his nose and wondered how many other places they really could stick things, then shuddered at the thought and forced it back out of his mind. He thought for sure he was just going to pass out as he stood there breathless until he heard someone shouting 'CLEAR' as another set of hands pushed him away even further. Not really being able to see what was going on anymore from the position they'd put him in but being able to hear everything clearly now, he heard the identical shout again, then felt his knees go weak when he heard the machine start beeping again. Someone else must have seen it too and caught him before he could rupture both his kneecaps on the hard floor, and when his head finally cleared, he realized it was Dr. Matthews that was holding him up, and she wasn't giving him 'that' look anymore.

"You ok Sam?" She asked the first question that would have normally come from Dean's mouth had Dean been able to speak.

"I'm fine," he gave his best Dean answer. "What about him? What just happened?"

"His blood pressure crashed. I was afraid this would happen. His heart is working too hard for his body to catch up. If we can't get that infection under control soon, he may not make it to the morning. I don't know if we'll be able to bring him back if he arrests again Sam."

Sam heard what she was saying and made up his mind that he was going to do something, whether Dean liked it or not. Looking over at his brother, who was no longer breathing without the assistance of yet another monotone machine, he didn't think Dean would even know he was gone. Either he'd be successful and would have to hear his big brother chastise him for the rest of his life, or he wouldn't be and they'd both be dead. Either way, it was a risk he'd take gladly.

"Dr. Matthews, when do you get off for the night? I need to go take care of something very important before Dean…well, before anything else happens. Will you be here when I get back?"

She gave him the softest smile he'd ever seen from her when she answered, no longer wanting to make him feel like pond scum. "Sam, I was off for the day and walking out the door when we got the call from the EMTs that he was coming, so I'm totally free all night. I'll sit here with him until you get back, if it will make you feel better."

"Yeah, it would, and thanks," Sam shocked the woman when he hugged her, and she shocked him when she hugged him right back.

"I'd recommend you hurry Sam," she called to him as he sprinted out the door, shoving her hands into her pockets before she sat and trying to figure out where the interesting gold money clip had come from.

Sam heard her, but kept running anyway, previous experience telling him to just take the stairs, which he did quickly, and found himself down and outside in no time. With his phone in his hand, he placed his call and prayed it would be answered.

"Sam, it that you? What's happening? I got so worried when I didn't hear from you? Where are you?" She rambled one question after another, not letting Sam get a word in until she'd run out of questions for the moment.

"Jay, listen to me. I need your help. Can you come and get me?" His tone was deliberate and unrevealing.

"Sam, what is it, what's wrong?" She asked, hanging onto his every word.

"Dean's dead. I need to…to…" he choked out, then went silent and waited.

"Where are you Sam? I'll be right there."

"The hospital. Please come, I need you," he spit out through gritted teeth before snapping the phone shut and waited.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

It didn't take long for her to show up, considering she was already out in the parking lot plotting her next move and trying to figure out how to work her way inside to see what was going on. She practically jumped for joy when she'd gotten Sam's call, all her scheming forgotten when she'd heard the news she'd been waiting so long to hear. She wished she could have been there when it happened, she would have given anything to hear Dean take his last breath, and to be there for Sam when he did. She could tell Sam was holding something in, and she fully intended on helping him let it out.

She waited for all of ten minutes before she couldn't stand it anymore, pulling up to the emergency room double doors and spotting him instantly as he sat on the ground with his back against the building, knees pulled tight to his chest with his elbows resting on them, and his hands covering his face in obvious despair. She threw the vehicle into park and jumped from the driver's seat, running to Sam and grabbing him by the hand as she pulled him to his feet before he even knew what was happening. The sudden change of altitude made him feel somewhat dizzy, and as she felt his legs start to give, she held him firm until he could steady himself, taking all of his not so inconsiderable weight against her and handling it like he was a feather.

"I'm so sorry Sam. Tell me, what can I do?" She asked as she wrapped her arms around him, somewhat put off by his cold, emotionless reaction.

"Take me to the motel, I need to get our things," he told her, shrugging off her embrace and shuffling to the car with his head hung low and climbing in before she could even move from the spot she stood in.

They drove in silence, pulling up next to the Impala as it sat there in the gloom, all alone at the back of the lot and emanating it's own form of sorrow, if that was even possible. Sam turned to Jay and reached for the handle that would let him from the car and yanked it hard to open the door, his eyes trained firmly on the floor mats as he spoke to her.

"Please, wait here. I need a minute alone." He climbed out, slammed the door shut hard, and disappeared through the unlocked motel room door, closing it tight behind him.

She sat there staring at the door, unable to get any kind of feeling from Sam. It was like there was a brick wall up around his head, and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't break through it. She had no idea Dean's death would hit him that hard and send him into an emotional wasteland, and now began to wonder if she'd broken Sam beyond repair. Problem was, she just couldn't tell, because she just couldn't read him anymore. She'd just be there for him and wait until he was ready to open up, because she had all the time in the world.

The opening of the door and Sam in the doorway motioning her inside got her moving and she was out and at the door as fast as Sam could blink. She followed him in silently and watched him drop onto the bed, the sight of him pulling a pillow to his face and taking a deep breath to smell Dean one last time heart-wrenching. His pain and sorrow just made her love him all the more, and as she took a seat next to him, waited for him to speak first, not wanting to push him.

"Why Jay?" He asked her, his face still planted in the crappy piece of motel bedding.

She rested a comforting hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze before she answered him, but speaking in a soft, sweet tone when she finally did. "Sometimes bad things just happen Sam. I'm so sorry."

"No. That's not what I mean," he directed back to her, his glare going from empty and heartbroken to steely-eyed and angry in less then a second as it met her somewhat bewildered one. He moved fast and positioned himself in front of the door with his stolen .45 in his hand before he continued. "What I meant was, why did YOU kill my brother Jay?"

"What are you talking about Sam?" She tried to hide the guilt in her voice as she attempted to make it sound like total surprise.

"He told me everything. He saw you, at Roosevelt. He heard you kill your partner. In a sick, twisted sort of way, I can understand his need for revenge, but I don't understand you. What did Dean do to you that he deserved to die?"

"Sam, I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about. Dean wasn't in his right mind, you know that," she attempted to defend herself, but the look on Sam's face remained unchanged. She'd learned a lot about the Winchesters, but the one lesson she failed to learn was that they trusted each other, unconditionally.

"You know, I would almost believe that if I didn't know my brother better, but unfortunately I know Dean almost as well as I know myself. Spare me the denials and excuses and please just tell my why I don't have a brother anymore. I need to know what my brother died for."

She thought for a long moment very carefully before she spoke, knowing the situation was getting way out of hand. She could not let him think she'd killed Dean, even though she had. She had to find a way to make him see how much she loved him, and that she would do anything for him.

"I love you Sam, you have to remember that. I've loved you for a long time. I knew all about Jessica and just wanted you to have her back. It was Him, he was the one that hated Dean and wanted him dead for killing his child, not me. I just wanted you. He said if Dean was gone, you'd be mine and I believed him. He was the one that drew you here to Rockford, to that asylum, knowing what was inside. He was determined to make Dean suffer, but I didn't know he would be so brutal about it, I swear to you. Please, you have to believe me, I would never try to hurt you. For god's sake, I'm the one that killed the bastard, I just wish I'd done it sooner. Why would I have saved Dean's life if I wanted him dead?" Her tone was calm and caring and she could feel she was getting through to him, getting into his head, which is exactly what she needed to do to make him see, to make him forget.

"You're telling me you tried to stop him, tried to save Dean? When he was beating and whipping and torturing my brother, the most important person in the world to me, you did everything you could to help him?"

"No, and for that I will always be guilty. Dean is a hunter Sam, sooner or later he would have figured out what I was and tried to kill me. He could never let us be together. I know it was wrong, and I will never forgive myself for letting him take your brother from you, but I did it for you, for us. You loved Jessica more then Dean, you proved that when you came back to her and left him behind again. He wanted you to come with him, but all you wanted was Jessica and your life. You can have that life now, we can have that life now, together," she tried convincing him, sensing it was working, she was almost there, almost totally inside.

"My father didn't send Dean that message, did he?" Sam asked, some of his emotion starting to creep into his face and voice as he asked it.

"No Sam, he didn't. That was how he got you here, sending that message. I'm sorry, but you have to believe that I had nothing to do with that, I swear to you."

She rose from the bed slowly and took short steps towards him, seeing the visible conflict in his eyes. She was so close, she could feel it in every inch of him, the struggle between his rage and his love at war with each other inside him. She stood face to face with him and watched his hand holding his weapon directly at her start to shake before he dropped his arms in utter defeat. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her, feeling she'd finally won. Sam was finally hers.

"Jay, just tell me one more thing. If you tried saving Dean, why did you come here as my father after I got him out of that hellhole and poison him? That had to be you, since you'd already killed your partner."

Sam's words were icy cold, hard, and filled with the hatred he felt, and she instantly felt the swing of his emotion and knew she'd been duped by him. Sam was usually the one that wore his heart on his sleeve, but being a true Winchester, he could put up a wall with the best of them if he had to, and he'd constructed one this time that the big, bad wolf couldn't touch, even with a stick of dynamite. She didn't even have a chance to breathe before she felt the cold, sharp tip of the knife, Dean's knife, against her back as Sam drove it home directly between her shoulder blades with all the force he had, letting his guilt, hate, and rage fuel him and burying the blade to the hilt into her soft flesh. He knew she wouldn't die from it, and that was just fine. He wasn't quite done with her yet anyway. He just stood over her and smiled as he watched her slump to the floor helplessly in a mass of skin and bone. She wouldn't be immobilized long, but it would be long enough.

"Well Jay, can you tell my why yet? Why you felt the need to finish my brother off? I never told you we changed motels, but somehow you knew exactly where to go and exactly what room we were in, almost like you'd been here before. You were the one that put the arsenic in his pills, weren't you? You were the one that wanted him dead all along. What else did you do to him? Admit what you did and maybe I'll let you live," he spit out his words, the visions of Dean battered and helpless helping blind him to the sight of her.

She knew it was over, knew she'd lost, at least for now, and decided she may as well tell him the rest of what he wanted to know, hoping he would be merciful and leave her to fight another day. He wasn't the killer his brother was anyway.

"I infected him with my blood to make sure no antibiotics would help. I guess it worked," she knew the second she told him what she'd done that that was exactly what he wanted to hear, and also knew what he'd been hiding from her so well all along, now that he'd let his own mental wall down and fully let her see what was inside. She stared at him as he came towards her, his gun now gripped firmly in his hand and aimed it straight at her heart. "He's not dead. Dean's still alive."

"No, he'd not dead, but you are," he glared as he pulled the trigger once and only once, the bullet tearing into her chest and ripping through her heart before she could say another word, the look of stunned disbelief permanently etched on her face. He no longer saw Jessica's face when he looked at her, just some ugly supernatural creature that needed dealing with like all the others. As he looked at her a little longer, he saw that the hole in her chest had never bled, and Sam knew she was dead.

He sat there for the longest time, just staring at her dead body, trying to figure out how he'd been so blind. He thought back to the night he'd met her and realized that the instant Dean had seen her, he knew. He even tried to warn him, but he didn't want to listen, then couldn't remember after they'd just about bashed his head in, not once, but twice. Dean knew, tried to tell him but he didn't listen, and now his brother was dying, or could be dead already for all he knew. He was suddenly on emotional overdrive and just let his tears flow until he couldn't breathe, waiting for them to dry up until they were no more.

Finding the will and strength to move again, he pulled a sheet from the bed and wrapped Jay's cold, dead body in it before heading to the bathroom and making his own attempt at throwing up before he realized he couldn't remember the last time he, himself had eaten anything. He'd been so concerned with his brother, he'd totally forgotten to take care of himself. He leaned over the sink and splashed cold water into his face to try to make himself look somewhat normal, only to give up when he realized it just wasn't going to happen. He didn't know if he'd ever look or feel normal again. 

He ventured back out of the bathroom and took one last look at the form under the sheet before picking it up and throwing it over his shoulder. He opened the door slowly and looked around carefully before carrying her body to the back of the Suburban and tossing it in, making sure as best he could that there were no eyes trained on him. He climbed into the driver's seat and moved the big vehicle to the farthest end of the lot, wiped down all the door handles and steering wheel before leaving it there and sprinting back to the motel room, the run leaving him somewhat breathless. He knew he'd have to finish the job, but for now it would have to wait. Saving Dean was more important.

He raced around trying to gather up any evidence that either brother had ever been there and threw it in the trunk of the car, made one more quick scan of the room before dropping the keys on the dresser and leaving, making sure the only blood left in the rooms was Dean's, and that blood they already knew was there. Confident he'd covered his tracks well enough, he just got in the car and left.

He drove mindlessly back to the hospital and was amazed when he parked that he hadn't killed anyone on the way, the whole ride unmemorable and one big blur to him. He raced inside as fast as his legs would go, making another mad dash down the hall and not stopping until he was safely inside his brother's room. His mouth dropped open at what he saw, and this time, nothing stopped him as he fell to the floor, fully passed out before his body even landed.


	28. Chapter 28

Epilogue

The horrific odor assaulting Sam's sense of smell slammed reality back into his weary mind, his eyes opening with a start as he tried pushing the hands causing the offense away from his face. He looked up and into the familiar, yet totally unfamiliar eyes staring at him, the eyes that usually made him feel three feet tall and scared the crap out of him every time they were shot in his direction that were now soft and filled with genuine concern for his well being. They were no longer cold and harsh but warm and gentle, and Sam finally saw how beautiful she really was now that her kind heart shined through, the beauty he'd never noticed through the stern, disapproving looks she always seemed to throw his way.

"You ok Sam?" She asked him softly and attempting to raise him into a somewhat sitting position. "You look a little pale, here, drink this," she continued, handing him a bottle of juice and him gladly taking it, grateful for the impending sugar buzz that would hopefully come.

From his half seated position on the floor, he slowly and silently downed the overly sweet juice, his eyes never once straying from what had shocked him so badly the second he walked in the door and running one scenario after another through his mind once the questions he knew were coming started. Once the bottle was finally empty, he just deposited it on the floor next to him and placed his now free hands firmly on the floor and made an effort to pick himself up totally upright at just about the same time Dr. Matthews laid a hand on his chest and forced him back down again.

"Slow down Sam, just wait there a minute and let me help you up. I don't want you landing face first on the tile again." She motioned for one of the 'visitors' to grab one arm as she grabbed the other and slowly guided him into a standing position, careful not to change his altitude too fast and cause him to crash again. They walked him across the room, his view of his brother totally obscured by the burly man holding him upright, but the monotonous sounds of the ventilator and the droning beeping of the heart monitor telling him nothing had changed since he'd left, at least not for the better anyway.

"Let's sit you in that chair there, ok," burly said as they lowered him slowly into the seat and giving him a moment to collect himself before he spoke. Little did he know Sam had been trying to collect himself since he'd seen him when he walked into the room.

"Sam, this is Detective Warner and his partner Detective Richardson. They were notified when all the test results came back, and they'd like to ask you a few question," Dr. Matthews told him, she herself dying to finally hear all the answers as well.

"What do you want to know?" He asked, his thoughts running at the speed of a gazelle being chased by a pack of starving wolves, hoping and praying he'd come up with the answers that would appease them and they'd just leave.

"Mr. Winchester, or may I call you Sam?" Warner asked, the overly friendly tone he used immediately making Sam suspicious, making him feel like they already thought him to be the guilty one.

"Sam's fine," he answered, keeping his answer short, the tone sounding somewhat dejected.

"Sam, do you have any idea who did this to your brother?" He asked him slowly, his own tone still friendly but slightly accusatory too.

He thought hard for a minute, the light bulb instantly shining bright as he fully intended on telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. "Yeah, I do. Her name's Jennifer, but she goes by Jay, and sorry but I honestly don't think I ever got her last name. I met her in a bar the other night, and she looked so much like someone I knew and lost that it just blinded me. She and this other guy had it out for my brother for some reason, and she distracted me so he could get to Dean. He beat him, then…well…you can see what else they did. Oh god, this is all my fault. Please, tell me you're going to catch them before they try to hurt him again," Sam was actually crying as he spoke, the fear and guilt he felt real, but the tears all for show. At least that's what he told himself.

"Wait a second, you mean that girl that you were here with, the one that…" Dr. Matthews couldn't finish what she was saying. All this time she blamed Sam, just like to police had. She'd been wrong, and immediately felt guilty for the way she'd been treating him all along. "I'm so sorry Sam."

Warner gave Dr. Matthews a long look now, directing his next question to her instead of Sam. "You met her? This woman he's talking about?"

"Yes I met her, she was with them the first time they brought Dean here. She had pretty much saved his life, which is a little strange considering what Sam's saying," Dr. Matthews was really confused now, and Sam knew it was his turn to speak.

"She only saved his life because they weren't done with him yet. I know this sounds crazy, but his getting as sick as he did wasn't part of their plan. Their plan was to torture him, then kill him. I don't know why, for that you'll have to ask Dean," that was it, the out he needed. He'd given them enough information to at least get them off his back, but for the rest they would have to wait for Dean to wake up, if he ever woke up. Sam gave a little shudder at that thought, and it did not go unnoticed by the sharp detective either.

"You sure there isn't anything else? Did you ever see this other guy? A physical description would sure be helpful."

Sam could sense a slight change in the cops tone, like maybe he was starting to believe him, but not entirely, not just yet. Sam really had to think about what he was going to say next, because he sure as hell wasn't giving a description that would put an APB out on himself. He'd have to keep it vague, because really, what did it matter, they'd never find him anyway. "I never saw him, not really, but Dean did. I think he was about six foot, brown hair, that's about it. I'm really sorry, but Dean is the one that you really need to be speaking to."

"Yeah, well, we'd really like to be speaking to him too. As soon as he's able, would you please call. The sooner we know who we're looking for, the sooner we can find them." The burly officer directed his comment to Dr. Matthews as he held out his hand to Sam, and Sam took it and shook it as firmly as he possibly could. A firm handshake was a sign of trustworthiness and integrity after all. Detective Warner excused himself after handing a card to the doctor and one to Sam, informing them both they'd get a view of Jay from the security cameras and left, his silent partner following right behind, never saying one word.

Sam relaxed back into the chair and took a few deep breaths, hopeful that yet another disaster had been averted. Now, he just needed to deal with his brother, knowing full well nobody would be coming after him anymore. He stood slowly and shuffled to the bedside, listening to the sounds of life being forced into his brother's battered and failing body and wracked his brain for answers, but coming up with none.

"I'm really sorry Sam, but the police had to be called considering the circumstances. It's not everyday someone comes into the ER with an acute case of arsenic poisoning. Did you mean what you said about them still coming after Dean? Is he going to be safe here or should we call security?" She was genuinely concerned with the prospect of trouble, not wanting to have any of it, at least for the next few hours. She honestly didn't think it would be more then that anyway. She still hadn't told Sam that they'd pretty much run out of options, and the infection was pretty much running rampant now, wrecking havoc through his entire system as it spread. She knew it would only be a matter of time, and she dreaded telling him. Somehow, Sam already knew it though.

"No, I'm pretty sure they wont be back…He's not any better, is he?" He asked, fearful of what he was about to hear.

"No, he's not. I'm really sorry Sam, but there isn't much else we can do. We've pretty much run the gambit of antibiotics and none of them have worked. It's pretty much up to him and his body, and I'm afraid that's not a very fair fight," she sighed, finally feeling pity for Sam instead of casting blame.

Sam wasn't ready just yet to give up though, he still had a plan. It would be a crazy one, but at least it was better then nothing. "Dr. Matthews, are there any medications that are silver based?"

She frowned at the question, not really sure where he was going with it. "Not really. There were a long time ago, but they haven't been manufactured in years due to the expense. The only thing that really comes to mind is colloidal silver, but that's not really a standard treatment. Its used on occasion as a disinfectant, but as a medication it's more holistic really, even though studies have shown it does kill certain organisms. Besides, the drugs we're using to purge the arsenic could interact with the silver and make it toxic."

"Does that really matter? He's going to die if we don't do something. At least we should try." Sam knew he had to talk fast to talk her into it somehow, knowing that the real truth would never work. Hell, the treatment may not work either, but it was his only option. Silver was lethal to shapeshifters, and it was her blood causing all of this after all. "Please Dr. Matthews, all I'm asking for is chance at saving my brother's life. Nothing else is working is it?"

She shook her head, knowing that it really wouldn't matter much either way. Dean was pretty much a dead man already, so what could it hurt. "Ok Sam, we'll try it. I'll have to see if we even have any in the pharmacy. Somehow I doubt it though, but I'll go take a look anyway. Keep your fingers crossed, it may be the only chance he has left, and I really do hope you're right." She walked from the room with a little speed in her gait on the off chance that Sam was on to something. He sure sounded like he knew something she didn't, and she fully intended on at least satisfying Sam's need to know that they had done everything they possibly could. She hit the elevators and headed down, leaving the room eerily quiet, save for the machinery making the only sounds.

Sam flopped back down into his seat utterly broken and exhausted and even a little heartbroken, all his energy spent with no more reserves to tap from. He covered his face with his hands, and this time really cried, not caring anymore who saw him or heard him until he just fell asleep, unable to keep his eyes open anymore.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Matthews gently shook Sam awake and cringed at the bloodshot eyes that stared at her as they tried to push the sleep out and focus on her. His neck and back were stiff from sleeping in the hard, plastic chair in an upright position, but he just considered it well-deserved punishment for the torture forced upon his brother and left it at that. She flashed him a comforting smile and waited for him to come fully around, his exhaustion still very apparent in his eyes and body language as he started to lean forward in an attempt to stand. Dr. Matthews just pushed him back down again and dropped one of he bags she'd been holding in his lap.

"I brought you something to eat, hope you're not a vegetarian."

Sam opened the bag and immediately smelled the grease coming from inside, his stomach growling and rumbling the second the scent hit his nose. He really didn't care at this point what he shoved into his mouth, food was food. "Not today… and thanks," he smiled back, it being one of those forced, fake smiles as he shoved greasy fries in his mouth and chewed mindlessly.

"Well, I had to try three different places, but I finally found the what I was looking for. Got a crash course in dosage too, so here goes nothing. Therapeutic amounts should be 8-12 teaspoons per day, so let's start with three and see how that goes," she tried to sound confident, but she really had no idea what the hell she was doing, but she didn't want Sam to know that.

"Why not the whole 12 now?" Sam wanted results, and he wanted them now, his lack of patience somewhat unnerving, even to him.

"Because it's processed through the kidneys, and so is the arsenic. The last thing I want to do is overload his system and send it into shock. We have to take this slow if you want it to work Sam, and since the drugs to purge the poison are given every four hours, we have to stick to small doses." She didn't wait for his response as she proceeded to shoot the liquid through the feeding tube and flushed it down with water, doing her best to make sure it all went all the way down. Now all they could do is sit and wait.

Sam had long since fallen back to sleep as she pulled up her own chair and continued the process every couple hours, the nurse that had come in twice to administer the first of many more injections to come just staring at her, trying to figure out why she was still there. She'd been there all day, and was starting to wonder that herself and had no answer. All she knew was that she needed to see this one to the end, no matter what the outcome.

"Hey, you're still here?" Sam's voice startled her somewhat, breaking the silence and her train of thought unexpectantly.

"Well, just can't seem to stay away. Guess I'm a sucker for a pretty face," she laughed lightly, trying to lighten Sam's obviously dark mood. "If you're good for a while, I think I'm going to leave for a bit. You need to give him this every couple hours, but don't let the nurses know. I don't want them to think I've lost my mind, ok?"

"I think I can handle it. Do you think it's working?" Sam braced himself for the answer, almost ready to hear it.

"Well, there's been no improvement yet, but no decline either, and that really surprises me. I guess you could say that's an improvement, but don't get your hopes up too high Sam. I'll make sure they page me if anything happens, and I'll be back in a few hours. Maybe you should talk to him, you never know, he may hear you."

"Talk... yeah, good idea," he said it, but didn't mean it as she walked out the door. He had way too many things to say that from his perspective needed to be said. '_Well, guess now is as good a time as any.'_

He stood and stretched, the chair slumber he'd just woken from just adding to the aches and pains currently running through his body. He'd decided he needed to tell his brother how he felt, so he just began laying his cards out on the table, knowing Dean would never listen to him if he was awake and aware, but Sam needing to at least get it out of his own system. He leaned over the bed and rested a hand across his brother's forehead, and hoped he wasn't going crazy when he actually felt it had started cooling off. He looked up at the monitor and confirmed his sanity with a small internal cheer. His fever was down, only a little, but still down. Maybe this was going to work after all.

"Hey Dean, I know you're gonna be mad at me, but I really don't care. I had to do it, I had to take her out, I had to do it for you. I thought for sure it would be the answer, but I guess it wasn't. Please don't be so far gone that you can't come back, because I could never live with myself if that happened. As much as you won't admit it, this is all my fault. You can argue the point all you like, but in the end, you know I'm right. I'm the one that dragged you to St. Louis in the first place, which is where all this shit started, all of it. I also know you knew there was something wrong with her the second you met her, but I was an asshole and wouldn't listen, and this is where it got us. You even wanted to leave town, but I said no. It was like I was hypnotized by her, and all I saw was Jessica in her, and couldn't see beyond that. She had me so twisted I didn't know which end was up until it was too late. I don't know exactly how to tell you this either, but that text that brought us here in the first place, Dad didn't send it, they did. Guess that makes everything that happened at Roosevelt my fault too, and leaves us right back at square one wondering where Dad is. I don't know if you can ever forgive me for the horrible things I did and said, but I'll understand if you can't. Just know that you're my brother, and I love you, and I don't want to look for Dad without you. In fact, I don't think I can look for Dad by myself."

Tears had started streaming down Sam's face again, only a few at a time, snaking their way down his chin and landing somewhere out of eyeshot. The pain and guilt he'd felt came out in his voice with every word, his inability to even look at Dean a true testament to how he really felt. He jumped when he felt the fingers brush lightly against his cheek and wipe away the few straggling tears that still rolled and was shocked to see his brother's eyes fixed hard on his face, his eyes telling Sam that Dean had heard every word he'd just said. He couldn't hold back the smile that spread from ear to ear as he cleared his throat to speak again.

"You heard every word of that, didn't you?" If Dean could have smiled he probably would have, the shaking of his head making Sam roll his eyes and sigh. "You're never gonna let me live it down, are you?"

The slight shrug of his shoulders told Sam what he needed to know. He'd live it down alright, because if Dean had his way, it would never be spoken of again. It ended right here, right now. Just as fast as the light switch that woke Dean from his deep sleep was flipped on, it was now abruptly flipped back off as Sam watched his brother's eyes drift closed again, falling right back into that sleep he'd temporarily been drawn from just long enough to hear Sam's pained confession and to let him know that it was all going to be alright. He spent the next few hours with just himself, finally somewhat at peace with everything that had happened and knowing Dean was too.

Sometime during the night, at least he thought it was night by now, he really couldn't tell anymore, he'd fallen asleep again, only to be dragged back awake by the somewhat refreshed Dr. Matthews, now that she'd made her return. Sam had gotten to know some of her facial expressions pretty well by now, and he wasn't sure he liked the one he saw on her face.

"Sam, I have something to tell you," she started, pausing for a minute to take a breath and sending Sam's blood pressure sky high with anticipation. Had Dean died in his sleep and he'd slept right through it? No way, couldn't have. "It seems they found the body of a woman in the back of a Suburban that they think may be…well… you know. The police think the two of them may have turned on one another, and he killed her. As soon as Dean can talk to them, they really need a better description of him, but they honestly think he's probably long gone by now. I'm really sorry Sam, I know how much you wanted this all to be over."

As far as Sam was concerned, it was all over. His only concern now was Dean, and since she was standing directly in front of him and blocking his view, he just asked. "How's Dean? Any change?"

She dropped the ominous look and replaced it with a much more positive one as she answered him, "As a matter of fact, yes Sam. Stand up and see for yourself."

He didn't need to be told twice as she cleared the way for him, and he was stunned to see how much had changed in the few hours he'd been asleep. He was still in a deep state of slumber, but he was breathing on his own, the absence of the noisy machine totally unnoticed by Sam until he'd seen his brother's face, the face that no longer looked deathly pale and pained but calm and peaceful. For the second time in a day Sam thought for sure he could pass out, or maybe it was the third, since he actually had once.

"I don't know what it is, but we finally found an antibiotic concoction that works, and the levels of poison are slowly going down. I'd say things are looking up Sam. He's not totally out of the woods, but he's pretty much at the tree line now. A couple more steps and I think he'll be in the clear," she could almost feel Sam's relief wash over him at her words, and if she knew Dean like Sam did, she'd know that she'd just told him his brother was going to be just fine. "Sam, I think I'm finally going to go home now. I plan on sleeping the day away, and then I'll be back. Somehow I have a feeling I won't be getting any emergency pages any time soon, and I am thankful for that." She tossed Sam a wave as she walked out, her stride displaying the victory she felt. Sam dropped himself back in his own seat, the first real smile he'd had in a long time finally gracing his face as he pulled up a chair, rested his head on his brother's bed, closed his eyes and promptly went right back to sleep himself.

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For two days Sam waited, two long days of gradual improvement, but not the improvement Sam had been looking for. Dean's fever was way down, just barely over the hundred mark and occasionally even under it. Instead of those god awful shots they were giving him every four hours to purge the arsenic from his body they were now reduced to four times a day, and by tomorrow it would only be two. Sam could see they hurt when they gave them to his brother as his face would scrunch into a scowl, but it never once pained him enough to wake him, and the longer he went without a wakeful moment, the more worried Sam got. Dr. Matthews had told him not to worry, that he'd been through such a horrible, traumatic experience that he may not wake up for days to come, but Sam didn't care, he just wanted to see his brother awake, to hear his brother speak, even if it was some obnoxious smart ass comment usually at his own expense. Every day there was improvement, and Sam could finally see a light burning brightly at the end of their long, dark tunnel, he just wished Dean would open his eyes and see it too.

Totally frustrated by the third day, Sam cornered Dr. Matthews and decided that since she'd been an almost permanent fixture around them both the last few days, she had opened the door to be a venting source. "Dr. Matthews, it's been four days and he hasn't even opened his eyes. Is there something wrong that you're not telling me? Is he really alright? Are you sure you didn't miss something?" As much as he tried to hide it, he was scared, and she knew it. She'd been around him enough the last few days to figure him out quite a bit.

"Well Sam, since it's been four days, maybe you could stop calling me Dr. Matthews and just call me Olivia. I'm really sick of hearing 'Dr. Matthews' anyway, and no, we haven't missed anything. I already told you that this is not unusual and you just need to be patient. When his body is ready, he'll wake up, ok?"

"Thanks Sam, way to go with the big mouth. I'm awake now," the voice, Dean's voice, startled them both, but more so Sam as he just stood there with his mouth open wide and nothing to say.

"Welcome back Dean. How do you feel?" Dr. Matthews was not at a loss for words though, taking the lead from the dumbstruck younger brother.

"Like a pin cushion. How many more times are they going to poke me before you let me out of here?" His eyes were half open, but they were open, and Sam couldn't help but notice that for the first time in over a week they weren't glazed over anymore. They were Dean's eyes, and that was all he needed to see.

"Only about twelve. You can do a dozen, can't you?" She chirped, throwing a wave at them both as she turned to leave. "I'm sure you two have plenty to talk about, so I guess I'll just let you do that."

Dean watched her fully walk out the door before he opened his mouth, knowing it was not what Sam wanted to hear, but needing to say it anyway. "Holy shit, she's really hot. How the hell did I sleep with that all over me for the last…how many days has it been Sam?" He smirked, the attempt at annoying Sam totally not working. Any other day it probably would have, but not today.

"Four days man, you've been out of it for four days."

"Damn, don't think I've ever slept for four days straight. Well, maybe not straight." He paused for a minute, anxious to get things off his own chest as much as Sam had. " Listen Sam, you said your piece Sam, now I want to say mine, and when I do, it's over, I mean OVER." Sam shook his head and listened, knowing he'd never witness this ever again in his entire lifetime. "I don't blame you for any of this Sam. You didn't drag me to St. Louis, I went willingly, and it's a good thing too because what would have happened if we hadn't? I wish I could say I knew that bitch was bad news before all the shit hit the fan, but I just can't remember so we'll just let that one go too. She was slick though, they both were. She got into your head and he got into mine. The nightmares, he caused them, all of them, and that is not your fault Sammy. I'm alive because of you, not in spite of you, so don't ever forget that," he paused for just a second to get control of himself, but it was a second too long, and it gave Sam an opportunity to protest.

"But all those things I did and said, that was my fault Dean."

"No it wasn't Sam. That was the crazy ass head doctor's fault, and maybe at first I didn't believe it when you said you didn't mean what you said, but I do now. When I was back at Roosevelt, that thing told me things that…let's just say in a twisted way I needed to hear and leave it at that. It's over, and I for one don't want to ever talk about it again, deal?"

"Even that part when you wet the bed, because you know Dean, that's some good…"

"SAM!" And at the yelling of his name, both men just stared laughing, almost until they cried, Sam never once saying they had a deal.

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The next six days were long, slow, and boring for both brothers, but miraculously Dean never once complained he wanted to leave, and Sam figured that was due to the fact that every time he turned around, Dean and the good doctor Olivia were whispering things to each other that Sam just couldn't hear, and probably didn't want to either. He'd grown to like the woman, and she'd grown to like him too. The police had come and gone, finally satisfied by what Dean had to say to know that they didn't need to throw Sam in the nearest cell and throw away the key. Things were finally getting back to normal, at least their kind of normal.

Olivia had been the only one paying attention to the newspaper the morning of Dean's release, the story buried on one of the back pages and actually pretty short, her curiosity somewhat peaked at the few words it did actually say. The body of a woman had unexplainably gone missing from the morgue, and nobody apparently knew how or why. By the time she'd gotten to the hospital to sign Dean's walking papers, she'd forgotten all about it though, it's importance totally lost on her.

As much as Dean had enjoyed her company, after ten days he was totally ready to haul ass out of the sterile building and spend the next few days in another dirty, crappy motel room, just as she had instructed him to. Yep, he was following all the rules this time. He also felt a little homesick, until he saw his most prized possession waiting for him at the door, ready to take him to freedom. Sam opened the door for him as he climbed inside, the smell of the interior almost making his eyes water as he patted the dash and whispered 'Daddy's home' only loud enough for himself and the car to hear, or so he thought as Sam just shook his head and climbed behind the drivers seat. Dean tossed a wave in Olivia's direction as his brother started up the car and pulled away, the only good memory of the place left standing at the door behind them.

They drove in silence to the motel that Sam had been holed up in for the last few days, no longer needing to spend every moment of every day joined to his brother at the hip. Dean slowly climbed from the car, the effects of the traumas to his body still felt in various places. They told him he'd tire easily for a while, he'd have random aches and pains for no apparant reason, and warned him there was a good chance the arsenic would make his hair fall out. That last one really pissed him off, more then anything. Sam opened the door and Dean breezed right by him, flopping down on the nearest bed, kicking off his shoes, and preparing to nap the rest of the morning and afternoon away.

"Dean, are you ok? Maybe we shouldn't have left so soon?" Sam's concern was admirable, but unnecessary as his brother made it well known why he was doing what he was doing.

"Hey Sammy, can you keep it down? I need to get some sleep, I have a date with the lovely Dr. Olivia tonight, and don't you even try to stop me." There it was, the pout that made Sam bust out laughing.

"Dude, since when do you go out with smart chicks? I thought you liked them barely out of high school and dumber then dirt so they'll fall for all your crappy pick-up lines. You always said bra size was more important then IQ, didn't you?"

"That's not nice Sam. I need to properly thank her for saving my life, that's all. I just want to see if she's THAT kind of girl once before we head out, and if she's not, maybe I can convince her to try, just once."

"Dean, you're a pig."

"Thanks Sam, I love you too," he rolled over, buried his head under his pillow, and ignored every other word Sam had to say, falling asleep faster then even he thought he could.

He did sleep away the rest of the morning and afternoon, finally dragging his ass up at sometime around five. He'd showered, shaved himself for the first time in over two weeks, dressed, and was ready to head out by six. Grabbing his keys, he told his brother not to wait up for him, promised he'd call if he wasn't coming back when Sam practically handcuffed himself to his ankles, and strolled out the door. Sam finally fell asleep sometime after two am after Dean had called and checked in for the third time like a little kid, mostly at Sam's insistence, to tell him he wouldn't be back until sunrise. He heard the key in the door sometime after six, heard the squeaking and groaning of the springs of the bed next to him, the sounds of his brother getting comfortable, then nothing else.

"Dean? You ok?" He had to ask, he just couldn't let it go.

"Yeah Sammy, just tired." he mumbled, already half asleep.

"Have you slept?" Sam knew that would be his last question since he already had an idea exactly where this conversation was going.

"No. I was wrong Sam, she was THAT kind of girl. Shit she was…she just...aww, never mind. Good night Sam."

"Good morning Dean." They were both asleep almost instantly, finally safe, finally home.

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The call had come when they were both sound asleep, the gruff voice on the other end shocking Sam when he'd answered it, their father telling them to stop looking, stop following, and sending them to Indiana on some crazy hunt. Dean was back in full soldier mode, packing up their stuff and loading the car, listening to Sam just bitch the whole time. Neither brother noticed the small, black car in the corner of the lot with the overly tinted windows, nor felt the eyes that bore down on them as they made their escape.

She had been watching them since they'd checked in, following Dean everywhere he'd gone for the last couple days. She knew now that she'd picked the wrong brother, and wondered how she could have been so blind. He'd survived everything they'd put him through, everything. He was strong, smart, and she decided she no longer wanted Sam. No, now, she wanted Dean. She followed them as they left, staying far enough behind to go unnoticed. She didn't know when, but someday she'd make him hers. It was just a matter of time, and she had plenty of it. 


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: I would like to throw out a personal thanks to Vanessa Sgroi for nominating this story for a People's Choice at Sensue's fanfiction awards website, where it won third place. She is one of my favorite writers, and everyone should check out her work! She is a total inspiration to me, and for that, I thank her! If you liked this little tale, keep your eyes peeled for the sequel, 'Why Does A Bad Penny Always Turn Up?'

Thanks to everyone that read and reviewed, and I hope you follow along with the continuation. 

She couldn't get him out of her head. That smile that so rarely graced his face, but could melt icebergs when he would actually let it show; or that confident swagger in his walk that occasionally faltered and became a painful gait instead, mostly because of her and going noticed to everyone that cared to look but herself and Sam; and the twinkle in his mesmerizing green eyes that were somehow haunted and tortured by something deep behind them that he kept hidden to everyone. She hadn't seen it in him before, but she did now. He was like a mystery to her that she desperately needed to unravel, and the more she watched him, the more it consumed her. His sheer will to live was intoxicating to her, and she needed it like a fine, red wine. She'd thrown him to the wolves, but he'd come out smelling like the sweet rose she now thought him to be, perfectly unblemished by any of his thorns. She promised herself she'd have him, one way or another. 

Sam's bullet had embedded itself in her heart the moment he'd pulled the trigger, but she'd thought nothing of it. She knew his weapon was useless and couldn't do anymore damage than make her bleed. She thought she'd been smart not to throw the silver bullets she'd taken from Sam's gun as he'd slept through the nightmare she'd caused back at him, knowing his concern for Dean would leave that little detail unnoticed to his eye. No, she still had those in her possession, and wasn't letting them go for anything. What she wasn't expecting though was the bullet that he had so heartlessly shot at her that had lodged itself in her heart would prevent her from healing the gaping hole it had left until it had been removed, and there was nothing she could do but appear dead while Sam wrapped her in sheets and stuffed her in the back of her stolen vehicle for the police to find later. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't do anything but act like the corpse everyone thought her to be until the coroner had started his autopsy.

He'd dug the bullet out first since the police were anxious to try matching it to a weapon of some kind, but since the cause of death was obvious to all, they'd put her on the bottom of the list to dissect until the other medical mysteries in the morgue had been figured out first. They'd wheeled her off to the side for later use, and she just bided her time until the room had gone quiet and dark.

Climbing from the table, she searched for some kind clothing to throw over her naked body, only to find none. Giving up on traditional apparel, she'd decided to take an alternate method of escape instead and took the form of a rather large German Sheppard before sneaking out into the hallway and happily approaching the guard sitting at the desk, who had stared perplexedly at the animal strolling proudly down the hall, wagging and it's tail as it went. It wasn't the most comfortable form of beast she'd chosen, but it would do. 

"God damn K-9 guys gotta keep their eyes on their partners," he'd grumbled and noted the time, just in case someone came looking for the pooch later.

Safely out of the building, she had found her way across town and back to the hospital she knew Sam would be fixed to, assuming Dean was still alive, that is. She knew she was in exactly the right place when she saw the monstrous black beast Dean called a car sitting alone in the parking lot, and she shuddered when she brushed against it. Spying a lone nurse at the darkest, farthest part of the lot and apparently leaving for the evening, she followed her, taking her form and dispatching of her body into her trunk quickly and cleanly after stealing her clothes and donning them to make damn sure she fit in. She turned around and strolled right back inside, following the faint scent of Sam wafting through the air. He had passed by not long before, and it left a trail for her to follow like breadcrumbs, leading her up to the ICU area. 

She'd crept down the hall silently, her presence unnoticed by the other nurses that were all busy doing something else, and followed the scent Sam left behind, stopping just outside the door when she'd heard his voice, Dean's voice.

"Listen Sam, you said your piece, now I want to say mine, and when I do, it's over, I mean OVER," she'd heard him begin, and listened intently to every word he'd said thereafter. He didn't blame Sam, not for any of it, even though it had been mostly because of Sam he was in the condition he was in. She could smell how sick he still was, and somehow listening to him not only take the blame for just about everything that had happened to him, but telling Sam he was still alive because of him made her feel so remorseful she could barely stand it. "I'm alive because of you, not in spite of you, so don't ever forget that," he'd continued, and in that instant she felt sheer admiration for the man she'd tried so hard to eliminate.

They'd moved him to another room once he was finally conscious again, which made it much easier for her to sneak in and out, considering they'd paired him with a near comatose man that had no clue she was even there. She'd make it look like she was visiting her incoherent father when Sam was there, but she'd turn her attention the other way when he wasn't, watching Dean as he would lay in dreamless sleep and relishing in his mere presence. Every day that went by she could feel something inside her telling her what she didn't want to hear, until she could ignore it no longer.

She followed them the day he was released to their motel, and camped out in the parking lot to watch their every move. It broke her heart to see Dean still in pain, though he hid it well from his brother and the rest of the world. Somehow, she could feel it, she knew it was there. She'd followed Dean that night too, and had she been able to, she would have broken that bitch doctor's neck for even touching what she thought to be hers, but she decided it better to let it go, she may need her in the future for something. It didn't matter, she knew Dean didn't love her, that's what was important, but he would love her soon, she'd make sure of it.

She followed them everywhere they went, always far enough behind to go unnoticed, but close enough to see that Dean still suffered the after effects of what she'd done to him on a daily basis and it started to make her sick. Sure, there'd be times when he was his usual charming self, but they were few and far between. Her heart broke again when she'd seen him lying on a dirty truck-stop bathroom floor with his arms wrapped around the toilet, too sick to get up, and she knew she had to help him. Sam had been right there though, and she couldn't get close, so she just watched as she always did from afar.

She couldn't stand the waiting anymore, especially after what had happened to Dean in Nebraska, and she'd finally decided to make her move. She needed to take care of him, needed to be with him, and she needed it to be now, so as she made her plans, she followed them out of Nebraska and onto the road, patiently waiting for just the right moment that she knew would be in just a matter of hours.

To be continued in

'Why Does a Bad Penny Always Turn Up?' 


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